Page 108 of Start With A Slap

Jason tutted. “That’s how he made his mint: holding rich bitches for ransom.” He sipped his beer. “Getting in good with their dads, playing ‘em like poker ‘til they handed over their chips, fair and square.”

When she saw Sever begging Portia to stay, she’d assumed his motive was devotion, not greed. A part of her wanted to keep assuming that. “You think he completely used his first wife?”

“How do you think he started his record company? She convinced her dad to invest. His first big buyout was her family’s resort chain. Well below market.”

“So once he bought Peyton Hotels for a steal, he was done with Melody,” Ivy said.

“Gets what he wants and moves on.” He scratched at his beer label. “I think my Mom was getting in the way of his big deal.”

He killed her for being inconvenient? “You think it was premeditated?”

“No. But I don’t think it was an accident,” Jason said.

“How can you be sure? I mean,” she glanced atSunflower X, “you never know what kind of kinks a person has.”

“You’ve never seen him angry. He always goes for the throat. I saw him throttle her more than once.”

She flashed back to the moments that he’d clutched her throat… when she saw him do it to Roxie… when she learned choking was his ‘Spot’. Itwasa kink. “Yeah, but if there was a strap?—”

“Either way, he killed her and staged a car accident with her decomposing corpse!”

Ivy was quieted. Here she was, trying to make excuses for him again, only this time it was out loud, in Jason’s presence. “You’re right. Either way, it’s... unforgivable.” 2D Melody stared up at her from the coffee table. “Was she there that night?”

“Yeah. But they weren’t even sleeping in the same wing anymore. They barely spoke. I got to hear her bitch to her friends on the phone all day and night. That was fun.”

Ivy nodded. “And if she knew anything about the murder, she wouldn’t have kept quiet, anyway. Not if he hosed her like that.”

“Or...” Jason shuffled through the papers and produced a confidentiality agreement signed by Melody Peyton three weeks prior to the divorce. And a few days after Roxie’s death.

“Oh.” Ivy noticed a twin document underneath that. “He signed one, too?”

He shrugged. “They’re both in the public eye. Kara said it’s standard.”

“And just one from Melody would implicate him.” She sifted through the pages. “Still, this is completely null and void in the event of a felony. If she was subpoenaed, she’d have to talk.”

“You’d have to get her here first. She’s married to some oil prince or some shit, lives in Dubai.”

“Ah,” Ivy said. “So, the coroner died of cancer years ago, Sever’s flunkies at the time are either still on payroll or MIA, and everyone else associated with the case is no longer in the country.”

“Everyone but me,” Jason said.

“Right, except you’re not a direct witness.”

“Yeah. Well, maybe your old boss can help.”

“Right.” She had volunteered to hit up a criminal prosecutor and former boss, for advice. It wasn’t a bad idea: she was as brilliant and as slippery as they came. But first, Ivy had to confirm a few things from a sex worker named after a mineral deposit. “Maybe she can.”

According to Wikipedia,Masterson Models was a legit modeling agency. They had a swanky looking website complete with photo gallery, searchable and separated by genders, then broken up by type. She’d assumed she’d find Citrine under ‘petite’, but no, she was 5’9”, 6/8 dress size, 33-24-36. Long, straight white-blonde hair, high cheekbones and bright blue eyes. Facially, she didn’t look at all like Ivy—in fact, there was a stronger resemblance to Sever.

Well, no one said the man was humble.

Citrine seemed closer to her age than most of the others, who had more of a dewy, womanchild look—and come to think of it, the woman he’d hired on the night they’d met wasn’t a kid either. After seeing all the blondes on offer and wondering which ones he’d been with, Ivy was comforted to know that he wasn’t into the barely legal bracket. She didn’t want to imagine anyone in that torture chamber, but someone just out of high school? Thank god he liked them closer to thirty than twenty.

The address and phone number on the website differed from the one on the business card. Obviously, the card she found under Sever’s desk was access to Masterson’s sub-rosa escort service.

Beside the address were the words “APPLY TO BE A MODEL”, and that gave her an idea.

The end goal was to quiz Citrine about Sever and what he did in that room, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to go about it. This could be the way. She started a checklist in her mind:

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