Author's note:

Thank you so much for your reviews. I am so glad you're enjoying it. This is short, but I like it this way. I hope you do too. Please review if you have time.


"Can you believe it?"

Ophelia seemed to be enjoying this much more than she should have been under the circumstances. Ophelia pulled her breakfast chair out and reached for some toast. Morticia couldn't bear the prospect of eating and merely pushed the food on her plate from one end to the other. Not that the suggestion he had murdered was not attractive – it wasn't that she'd suddenly gained a conscience and found the concept repulsive – but that he'd been accused of something he hadn't done. Morticia despised injustice in all its guises.

"Dead, right on the terrace. His cousin!"

Their mother huffed, "Ophelia, your intended is in custody on your evidence."

"I would never lie," she said gently.

"Ha," Morticia mouthed bitterly.

"What could you mean by that little sister?"

"I just mean you lie, more than you'll ever admit,"Morticia said softly.

"I suppose so," her sister looked at her pointedly, "But even you must have seen that he was the last person to see him. I couldn't well lie to the law. He was the last person."

"I was in the powder room."

Ophelia's eyes tightened, "Of course you were."

"Ladies," her father put his paper aside, "This animosity is as sudden as it is unexpected. Perhaps we could try-"

"Father," Morticia said suddenly, "I am simply tired. May I be excused?"

"No, you may not."

"Always running," Ophelia said lightly, into a prolonged silence.

"So how will the wedding be affected?"

Their mother was trying her damndest to make conversation that was light.

"Oh he's a lawyer," Ophelia said flippantly, "He'll get himself out."

"You hope," Morticia muttered, "Otherwise your plans are very much scuppered."

The silence descended again and it did not lift until Morticia finally had the nerve to stand and leave anyway.

-0-

He pulled at his grubby cuff, wrestling it down his arm.

"Do you want some water?"

He shook his head, "No but I could murder some wine."

The detective shook his head.

"Mr. Addams, your personal records show, not even counting your business assets and all those hidden Caymen Island accounts and Swiss rat-holes you're running," he slid the records towards him, "That you can afford your bail with quite a substantial amount to spare. In fact, it wouldn't even dent your bank account. I don't understand…"

"It's more fun like this," he shrugged, "Though some fresh linens wouldn't go amiss."

The detective shook his head, "Not until I get the truth."

"I've given you the truth," Gomez sat back, "I had an argument with him, we tussled about a bit, I pushed him to the floor and went back inside. I didn't jab a knife between his ribs, some other clever soul did that."

"But you hated him?"

"I didn't always like his behaviour."

"But you were close?"

"Yes."

"So why the sudden differences in opinion?"

She flashed through his mind, her smile perfect and calm.

"He was impolite," he crossed his arms.

"And that's a good reason to be dead?"

"As good as any," he examined his nails, he couldn't abide dirt under them, "I won't say that I'm not jealous of him. Listen," he leaned forward, "You've no evidence to convict me, aside from the anecdotal evidence of my would-be wife – who's hardly the sharpest rapier in the armoury - , and the contradictory evidence of my friend. Not a finger print, not a hair, not a murder weapon. Not even a decent motive. You can't charge and your poor interrogation skills are entertaining at best and irritating at worst," he looked at his wrist, remembered they'd taken his vintage Rolex, and then rolled his eyes towards the wall-clock, "You have another ten hours to charge me or let me go. I am going to plump for the second."

The detective scraped his chair back and stood.

"Or you could admit to it. We do have that…," he shuddered to a pause, "Dungeon we found. Plenty of weapons in there."

Gomez laughed, "Detective, if I had done it I'd wear it proudly as a badge," he nodded, "But I didn't murder my cousin. I truly didn't. And I have no idea how I might convince you. And those aren't weapons, those are collector's items. The only blood you'll find on them is my own… and maybe some game ladies'."

The detective nodded and made to go.

"Can I see my lawyer now?"

"You're your own lawyer."

He laughed loudly, "Ah I forgot."