Jeopardy in July (Jamie Quinn Cozy Mysteries Book 5) by Barbara Venkataraman
At four o’clock, a woman in her early thirties whirled into my office in a cloud of expensive perfume, right on time. She looked like a Boca socialite to me and I knew from experience that sleek hair like hers with all its highlights and lowlights cost about two hundred dollars at the salon. Yet, for all her glam accessories, Tory reminded me most of a skittish cat. I smiled reassuringly and offered her a seat.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, Tory, and I’ll see if I can help you.”
Her bottom lip quivered and I instinctively reached for the box of tissues. “I’m…I’m scared of my husband…he’s tried to kill me–twice!” she sobbed.
No way in hell was I taking this case; a violent husband was persona non grata in my book. I would do my best to steer her in the right direction, give her a referral, maybe some tea and sympathy, and send her off. “Are you looking for a restraining order?” I asked. “Or a divorce as well?”
“Everything, all of it! I want to sue him for personal injury and emotional damage, too. You have no idea what he’s put me through.”
Tory was angry now, but at least she had stopped crying. She was tapping her long manicured nails on the arm of the chair which set my teeth on edge. The sooner she left the better. It was like interviewing someone for a job when you knew after the first thirty seconds that you weren’t going to hire them.
“Did you file any police reports?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Okay, have you requested a restraining order before?”
Tory shook her head again.
“Have you ever gone to a shelter or received counseling as a victim of domestic abuse?”
“No, I haven’t,” she said, looking like she was about to start crying again.
“Do you have any photographs of bruises or anything like that?” I asked.
“No, I don’t,” she answered.
“Has he threatened you with a gun or a knife?”
She shook her head. “Topher doesn’t own a gun.”
Topher? Like rhymes with gopher? What kind of name was that?
“Okay, has Topher hit you with his fists or any objects?”
“That’s not how it is, you don’t understand!” She slapped the arms of the chair in frustration.
I sighed. “I’m trying to understand, Tory. You said Topher has tried to kill you twice. Can you tell me what happened?”
“When he gets angry, he says he’s going to kill me and make it look like an accident.”
I was losing patience. “Can you be more specific? I’m imagining all kinds of things, like him throwing the toaster into the bathtub…”
“Not that kind of accident. He chases me around the house with a–”
“–With a what, Tory?”
“With a spoonful of peanut butter! I’m allergic to peanuts.”
