When Catherine stepped through the door, Mrs. Gracie's expression was cautiously friendly – something Catherine wasn't sure was reflected on her own face. As she crossed the room and pulled the chair back from the table enough for her to sit down, in fact... she felt her entire body intensifying. She knew something was going on. Something more than Mrs. Gracie had told them. Catherine didn't appreciate being lied to, and the falsely-surprised expression on Mrs. Gracie's face was adding to her irritation with each passing moment.
"Hello, Mrs. Gracie," she tried to sound friendly enough.
"Ms. Willows," greeted the woman. "I understand you have some more questions for me?"
"We do, actually." Catherine shifted the different papers around in her hand, looking for the DNA results. "Now, if you remember, you submitted your luggage for testing?"
"That's right," Mrs. Gracie nodded, and her plastic smile came back in force. "Thoroughness."
Catherine's answering smile was far less plastic. Especially since it was directed at the table. "That's right. And we really appreciated that–" and here she looked up, "–because we found some interesting DNA on it."
Mrs. Gracie's eyebrows crinkled together.
"All male DNA, to be specific," finished Catherine. She turned her head to the side. "You want to tell us about that?"
"Who-whose DNA?" asked Mrs. Gracie.
Catherine thumbed through the stack of papers again, silently for a moment. "If I understand it, the name was Greg?" She peeked upwards to gauge Mrs. Gracie's reaction. "The CEO?"
Mrs. Gracie shrugged.
Catherine's eyes narrowed, growing more and more annoyed by the charade. "Of your husband's company, Mrs. Gracie. Crest toothpaste. Not exactly an obscure detail."
For a moment, Mrs. Gracie said nothing. She sighed, and wrapped her arms around herself, while Catherine slid the photo of the DNA results forward.
Mrs. Gracie leaned over it, and examined the page for a few seconds. "Greg, oh, Greg..." was all she said at first.
She rose from her seat, and rubbed her forehead with one hand. With the other, she took a drink from the glass of water sitting there for her. Catherine waited with waning patience.
At last, Mrs. Gracie set the glass back down, but began to pace. "Ms. Willows... are you a mother?"
Catherine blinked a couple of times. What? "Yes..." she answered warily.
"And, you were married, then?"
"...Yes."
"Then, you know what it's like, don't you?" Mrs. Gracie stopped pacing. The look she affixed Catherine with was weary and tired. "To live with a husband. Day after day, he comes home from work. Day after day, it's all about what he did at work. What he and his co-workers do." She looked away and nodded her head. "Was your husband a higher-up? Was he important where he worked?"
"Eddie?" responded Catherine incredulously. "No. God, no. Absolutely not."
"Well, then... that part makes it worse." Mrs. Gracie returned to her seat. "Their whole lives are for their corporation. It's all they think about, all they talk about... day and night. It's all about what the boss said, what the rumors are, what office gossip is making the rounds... Endless. Day and night."
In the pause that followed, Catherine blinked prominently a few more times. "Mrs... Gracie, I... still don't see what that has to do with you lying to us. You said you were vacationing with your sisters. But your husband's boss' DNA ends up all over your luggage."
Mrs. Gracie sighed in defeat. "I was having an affair. With Greg."
Catherine leaned back and folded her arms. "Uh huh..."
"I was. I really was," said Mrs. Gracie. She took another drink. "Greg and I met at one of... well, several formal functions, you see. Because that's another part of being married to a corporate man: the duty rounds.
"But I met Greg at a Christmas party... And, ironically, it was also at a Christmas party that, we... we began our affair, later on."
She stopped, and Catherine softened a bit to see the lone tear coming down her cheek.
"Archibald was... not a saint, himself," Mrs. Gracie continued. "I decided to have an affair, because... I saw him with another woman who works for Crest." She sniffled. "I saw him, by the punch. He was standing there, and his arms were around her, and... he kissed her."
Catherine sighed. Of course...
"I had been attracted to Greg for... well, at that point, it had been literally years. But I was a good wife, if nothing else. I wasn't going to act on it. Until I saw that..."
She ducked her head.
Catherine thought back to her conversation with Brass just a few minutes ago.
"Hey, Catherine." He stepped out in front of her with a cautionary arm. "I've got something for you."
Catherine stopped and looked at him expectantly.
"I just wanted you to know, I had a bad feeling about this case. I did some undercover work." He looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody had heard him.
"You?" asked Catherine with a grin. "You did some undercover work, Jim?"
"Don't look so surprised," bantered Brass. "But, anyway... I went to Crest. I spoke with the secretary: Claire, it was written on her name tag. Told him I was a friend of 'Archie's'," he went on with an air quote. "Anyway, she told me all kinds of stuff. Stuff you might want to know before you interview this woman again."
Now Catherine was genuinely intrigued. "Stuff like what?"
"Like that the Crest CEO, Greg, was out of town at the same time as Ginger Gracie."
Catherine shook her head, and ran her hands tiredly over her face and through her hair. "Yes. Yes, that's consistent with our findings."
"Oh, really?" asked Brass. "What'd you find?"
"The DNA on her suitcases?"
"Mm hmm."
"All male."
Brass stared.
"Yeah. All a match to the Crest CEO."
They both looked to the interrogation room behind Brass. There was no one else in the halls but them. For once, it was completely silent in the LVPD HQ, save for the hum of the vents.
"Then she lied to me about that, too. Unless he lied to her..."
"What do you mean?" asked Catherine.
"Well, Claire told me that her boss had gone to another Crest building, somewhere else in the country," replied Brass.
"You're right," said Catherine. "He could've lied to her. But she could've lied to you, too."
"Mm hmm," agreed Brass. "I think I might want to go back there, and... tell her the whole truth."
"Mrs. Gracie... I know this isn't an easy thing to discuss, but..." her eyes scanned over Ginger's form, "...could you tell us who the woman was? Did you know her?"
"Oh, yes, of course I did." Mrs. Gracie reached into her purse and withdrew a small travel packet of Kleenex. "She's been with the company for years. Claire, is her name. She's Greg's secretary. She's been covering for us, quite a while." A smile that one could probably call "savage" without too much of a stretch of the truth lit up Mrs. Gracie's facial features. "I don't think she knows everything that's happening, you know... I don't think she knows that I know it was her. Archibald was a bad liar, he couldn't keep a secret to save his life. Or his marriage..." Mrs. Gracie explained. "He, of course, told me about the kiss. The encounter, more like. He never told me it was her..." She grinned up at Catherine suddenly. "It's... well, quite satisfying, to tell you the truth. Greg is preferable to Archie in MANY different ways, you see – having Archie in the dark... and his little whore is the one explaining away Greg's long absences..."
Catherine took a deep breath. Enough to motivate you to kill him, Mrs. Gracie?
"Thank you for coming, Heather." Lynn Gracie smiled, and left a wet kiss on Lady Heather's cheek. "It was so long overdue."
"I agree," answered Lady Heather with a return smile that barely concealed her frustration. "Let's do this again. Sometime soon?"
"Most definitely, darling."
And with that, Lynn closed the door.
Leaving Lady Heather to stare at it, stoney faced through and through.
Nothing. She had learned absolutely nothing. After an hour of drinking tea, eating horribly undercooked cookies with way too much sugar in them (and she was already digging in her purse for an insulin injection), and listening to stories of book clubs and elder's nights out, there was absolutely nothing of any worth to be gleaned from any of it. Grissom would NOT be happy.
As she began to apply her gloves and head down the steps, Lady Heather reflected on the one question she had gotten to ask about Frank.
"So... how has he been?" She looked up with a formal smile. "Frank, I mean."
"Oh, you know, this and that," answered Mrs. Gracie Senior. "He's been working hard lately. He got a job at Crest. The toothpaste?"
"Ah," commented Lady Heather simply. "And that's working well for him, I assume..."
"I don't know, for sure. He's never really around here, anymore. Those business types, they have no time for their families."
"Yes..." mused Lady Heather. "They tend to forget what's really important."
Mrs. Gracie Senior took a seat opposite Lady Heather at her ancient-looking table. "Well, that depends on who you ask, doesn't it? Perhaps, this is what's most important to Frank."
It took Lady Heather a moment to realize she was glaring over her nose at Lynn. It wouldn't do any good to enter into this discussion with an almost-ninety-year-old-woman.
So she straightened up and smiled again. "I understand."
"Tell me, how is it going with Zoe?"
Lady Heather sniffed once, and looked down at her tea. Which she had stirred unceasingly for five minutes well past the point of mixing in her lemon juice. "Zoe's doing very well, thank you..."
What was the point in telling of her daughter's death? Lynn had nothing else in life...
"You tell her, grandma wants to see her again soon, now," pressed Lynn, wagging a finger in a manner that so many her age did.
It brought a more genuine smile to Lady Heather's face. "I'll do that, Lynn. I promise..."
Mrs. Gracie Senior got up. "Excellent. Would you like some more tea?"
"Oh, please..."
While she headed for the stove with more speed and strength than she probably should have had at her age, Lady Heather sighed, and drained the entire glass of tea she still down her throat. Still, she couldn't resist the endearment she felt.
I hope this is me when I'm ninety... she thought, heartfelt.
She came to her car, and shivered with the blowing wind...
It was also that wind that carried a smell into her nostrils. A smell that alerted her she wasn't alone. She looked up in time to see a fist winding back.
But not to duck beneath it, as it flew forward.
"UGH!" she grunted, and fell backward.
When she looked in her attacker's direction, she could see that he was a man in a very long, tan coat. His face was rough with stubble on his somewhat-wrinkled skin. There were large, unattractive sunglasses covering his eyes. His teeth were gritted, his arm reaching out in her direction again...
She lifted a foot up, catching him in the knee.
"OUCH!" he called out, in a deep voice. "Damn it!"
She had turned and begun to regain her feet. There was a larger street with busy cars just down the dreary, residential road. If she could make it...
A weight collided with her back, throwing her forward. The grass was soft, and they skidded right into a pile of leaves. Rough hands forced her to roll over, and another blow was delivered to the side of her head.
She weakly resisted the force pulling her upward. It felt like a daze, now, the way she was moving...
A car door opened, but the car was not her own. This much she could tell from how close she was.
But she wasn't done yet.
She elbowed him in the gut, and spun around to face him. He was clutching his stomach, and hissing in pain. The drops of his saliva were gumming up the front of her coat. Her eyes widened as the plan came together.
He stood and gritted his teeth. Bearing down on her, he began to push her into the car with the sheer size of him.
She slammed a foot down on his, then lashed out and grabbed his cheek. His mouth flew open instinctively with the new object entering it.
The more she could get in...
Got it! With her left hand, she swung... and with the strength she felt she was regaining, she ducked beneath his arm as it came up to his face. When she was clear of him, she thought for a moment she might be able to actually make it to a house...
But when the assailant came slamming down on her again, she reverted to plan A. He tugged on the back of her coat, but she didn't fight him. She was too busy removing her glove...
She felt herself hoisted over his shoulder, and could only be grateful she was still facing the pile of leaves he had just lifted her from. Facing away from him, so he couldn't see what she was doing with her hands.
She dropped both her gloves beside it, and stared at it as he carried her – ignoring her kicking – and threw her into the back seat of the car.
She hoped he would just try to lock the door and go around to the front seat with a key. She could make a run for it from there.
But the last thing she remembered before the third blow rendered her unconscious was seeing her purse and belongings scattered all over the yard of whoever lived next door to Mrs. Gracie Senior...
Then, there was blackness – increasing in its velocity as it covered her eyes – and the sound of a car starting, what felt like not even a second later...