Blowout

teabags out of her purse. “Dillon wouldn’t exactly call coffee a first cousin to evil tobacco, but close enough. Could we have some hot water?”
    Callie walked down a corridor of dirty linoleum, the color of lettuce, streaks of muddy water making puddles here and there where the linoleum had caved in, thinking that a Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States of America had been strangled, and they were talking about coffee. There weren’t a whole lot of people around, cops or otherwise. She thought this was odd until she realized it was Saturday morning.
    The small interview room was warm, if nothing else. There were half a dozen chairs and a single scarred table. The walls were painted the same lettuce color as the linoleum in the corridor. Callie thought if she were a criminal, she’d confess, just to get out of this room.
    She shrugged out of her coat, sat down, and slipped her boots off so her socks could dry out.
    No one said anything until the coffee and hot water for the tea arrived.
    Callie looked from Detective Raven, who’d taken off his leather jacket, to the special agents. Officer Kreider sat against the wall, saying nothing. “I was on the debate team in high school. I had quite an edge because my stepfather taught me. My mother wasn’t married to him then, but they’d been seeing each other for at least six months as I remember. He was brilliant, I recognized that even as a self-absorbed teenager. I told him once when he demolished me in an argument that he could probably convince a fencepost to tango.” The instant the words were out of her mouth, Callie burst into tears. Sherlock handed her a Kleenex. She hiccuped, then managed to get herself under control.
    Ben Raven rolled up his shirtsleeves as he said, “How long was it before your mother married Judge Califano?”
    She took a slow sip of the strong black coffee until she was sure she wouldn’t lose it again. “She didn’t marry him until I went to Bryn Mawr. She took a long time deciding, I guess, for the simple reason that she was and is very rich. Even a Justice of the Supreme Court could have been interested in her money.”
    “And the other reason?”
    “You’re fast, Agent Sherlock. My aunt Marie, her sister, married a second time only to have her new husband sexually abuse her twelve-year-old daughter, my cousin, Moira. I’ve never asked her, but I think that was the other big reason why she waited.”
    “So,” Ben said, “she waited until you were out of the house.”
    “She was careful,” Callie said. “My mom’s always been very careful with me. So, no matter how much she believed in her second husband, I guess she wouldn’t take a chance.”
    “Is she that careful about everything?”
    “She’s brilliant herself, Agent Savich. She came from a rich family, it’s true, but she didn’t sit back and let servants pop peeled grapes into her mouth. She started her own business, and now she owns four high-end boutiques in the metropolitan area, all of them doing quite well indeed. I think she’s a little too driven, but that’s just the way she is. To answer your question, she’s careful about money. She has hers and, I suppose, my stepfather kept his own accounts. She earns the money, and she’s always protected it. That, and her reputation, it’s very important to her, and it’s not got anything to do with her family name. It’s because of her own pride in what she’s accomplished, in what she is. I liked to see the two of them debate something, anything.” A sob caught in her throat again, and she stared down at her feet. “Yeah, she’s careful about everything.”
    Savich took a sip of tea before saying, “What did your stepfather think about her financial attitudes? The separate accounts and all that? Since he was an older man, wouldn’t he have expected joint accounts, expect perhaps to manage his wife’s money?”
    Callie shrugged. “I wasn’t at home enough to form an opinion. When I visited, neither of them ever raised any contentious subjects. I remember only one real argument I walked in on and that was five years ago.”
    “Do you remember what the argument was about?” Sherlock said.
    “She was angry about something he’d done, something she’d found out about. I don’t know what it was, but my mom was nearly in orbit. Then they both saw me and clamped a lid on it. Again, this was five years ago, hardly relevant to anything.”
    Detective Raven said, “Are you aware