Free Bloody Royal Prints by Reba White Williams

dark. I’ve never seen blacker hair. He has bushy black eyebrows, too, although you couldn’t see them. I’d know him anywhere, even naked and dead in a bathroom not his own.”
    â€œIsn’t cutting one’s throat an unusual way to commit suicide?” Rachel said.
    Before Julia could reply, the telephone rang. Julia answered, and after a brief conversation, turned to Rachel. “That was Izzy. She says Stephanie has calmed down, and knows you are here. She wants to talk to us. Do you mind if they come up?”
    â€œNo, not at all. I’ll be interested to hear what Stephanie has to say.”
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    A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Julia admitted Stephanie, wearing a quilted pink robe and matching slippers, her hair loose and tangled, and her face bare of makeup. Her eyes were red, but she wasn’t crying.
    With her was one of the plainest women Rachel had ever seen, even in the orphanage in Oklahoma where she had spent her childhood. The harridans running that place had worked hard to make the girls look as ugly as possible, because many women would not hire a pretty girl to work in their homes, fearing that a son or husband would be attracted.
    Stephanie’s companion had mouse-brown hair pulled back tightly from her bony face. She wore orange plastic-framed glasses, held together on one side with adhesive tape. Her long tan dress—it looked as if it was made of burlap—fell to her ankles, and hung loosely over her gaunt body.
    â€œCome in, have a seat,” Julia said. “Rachel, this is Stephanie’s friend Izzy.”
    Izzy nodded. She sat in a straight-backed chair and crossed her ankles, revealing droopy tights, and clogs.
    Stephanie paced up and down the room, talking all the while. “I don’t know why this is happening to me. I don’t know why Ivan was in my apartment. When I came in this morning, there he was . . . yes, yes, I stayed out all night! There’s no law against it; I’m an adult,” she said, as if she had been accused of misbehavior.
    â€œWhere were you?” Julia asked.
    â€œWith a friend,” Stephanie snapped.
    Julia raised her eyebrows and looked at Rachel. “So much for Miss Congeniality,” she murmured.
    Rachel thought finding a dead man in one’s bathroom might make anyone irritable. “Do you think this—uh—event is linked to the stolen prints?” she asked.
    Stephanie shook her head. “No, of course not. I was afraid you might think that. That’s why I wanted to see you. I’m certain Ivan had nothing to do with the theft. I think he was murdered.”
    â€œWho would do such a thing?” Rachel asked.
    Stephanie turned to Julia. “I have enemies. You know I do. You saw the letters I received when I changed my name.”
    â€œYes, I saw the letters. Very ugly. Rachel told me about the stolen prints. Why are you so sure the murder isn’t related?” Julia said.
    â€œIvan was rich,” Stephanie said. “He didn’t need to extort money from me, and he knew I have nothing. We’d talked about marriage. He was happy.”
    â€œIf it was murder, you’ll need an alibi. Will the man you spent the night with give you an alibi? If he will, you have nothing to worry about,” Rachel said.
    â€œI’m not worried about being suspected of anything. I’m worried because someone out there hates me so much they would do this.” Stephanie began to cry again.
    Julia rose, opened the door to the corridor, and nodded at Izzy, who stood up, put her arm around Stephanie, and escorted her out.
    â€œI still don’t know how she can be so certain the body in the bathroom isn’t linked to the theft of the prints,” Julia said.
    Rachel had an idea about that, but before she could reply, the doorbell rang. Julia looked through the peephole and whispered, “Cheese it, the cops. They’re here sooner than I