#tfosp

Detective Harrison Yates entered the interrogation room, taking his seat across from the blonde woman who had been waiting patiently, staring at the table in front of her. She looked up at him, calm and measured, but her face was flushed and her eyes were bloodshot. The bandages covering her body were starting to seep with blood.

He sighed, leaning on the table. “Mrs. Henrietta Ellis.”

She blinked, seeming to take a moment to process what he had said. “Oh, I prefer Biggle.”

“How about we just stick with Henrietta, then?” Harrison offered.

She nodded slowly. “Sure.”

Detective Yates took the folder from under his arm and opened it. “I know tonight has been rough. And I do want to give you my condolences. It can’t be easy losing your spouse. It’s a miracle your injuries were so minor, physically speaking.”

“It’s fine, detective. Can we just…Get into it? I would rather be at home when I have my breakdown.”

“Of course. We’re just trying to figure out what might have happened?” He looked down at the preliminary report they had. “You and your husband, Jeffery, were in a car crash, correct?”

“Yes, earlier tonight. We were supposed to be going out. He said it was a surprise where we were headed. I was just happy to go out. But, then when we were on the highway, he was speeding, he likes to speed. Liked…He didn’t see the police car, the speed trap. 

Henrietta paused, taking a moment to breathe and calm down the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“The police car, it pulled out, but when he went to stop, to pull over, I don’t know. He said something about the breaks, and then he started yelling, and…I don’t remember what happened after that. I’m assuming that he must have lost control, he panics-panicked very easily and that would lead him to making some dangerous decisions…I’m sorry, I wish I knew more.” She rubbed at her watery eyes, wincing when her raw palms pressed against them.

“Did you notice anything about the car before?” Harrison asked, leaning forward.

“Before? It didn’t seem like anything was wrong. The car stuttered a bit when he was shifting gear, but that didn’t stand out to me.”

The detective hummed. “Did it do that for you when you drove?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your house only had one car, correct? So, what was it like when you drove?”

Henrietta chuckled softly, “I wasn’t allowed to drive.”

“You don’t have a license?”

“No, I do. Jeffery was a very, let’s say, traditional man. He wouldn’t allow me to drive the car. He had the only key, and he kept the garage door locked at all times. If something was wrong with the car in the days leading up to it, he didn’t mention anything to me.”

Harrison cleared his throat, feeling awkward. “I…I see. Well, alright then. I suppose that’s all the questions we have for you tonight. Do you have anyone available to take you home?”

“Do you mind if I get my phone out?”

Harrison waved a hand at her. “By all means, go ahead.”

Henrietta reached into the pocket of her jacket, accidentally ripping the tear in the sleeve larger as she did so. She clicked the cracked screen on and smiled softly at the screen. “Yes, my friends are waiting outside for me.”

Harrison stood, closing the folder and tucking it under his arm. “Then let me walk you out.”

Henrietta stood, smoothing out her dirty dress. “Thank you, officer.”

The detective walked the blonde out to the front steps and watched as she joined the four men outside. He watched as the tallest one, a man with curly hair and a prosthetic leg leaning on a cane, handed her the unlit cigarette in his hand and a second, with neon green tips, flipped open a lighter and lit it for her. The shorter two men wrapped her in a hug and helped her into the back seat of their car. He smiled at the group, thankful to see the new widow seemed to have a support system to help her through the grieving process. The car pulled away and the detective went inside to finish the paperwork.

Inside the car, the group waited until they were a few miles from the police station before Michael looked up at Henrietta in the rearview mirror.

“Well?”

Henrietta smirked at him. “Bought it. Hook, line, and sinker. I should be an actress.”

Karen popped up from where she had been waiting in the trunk. “Success!”

“Atta girl.” Pete shook her shoulder happily.

Firkle rolled down the window to let out the smoke from her cigarette when he started to cough slightly. She grabbed his inhaler from Pete and passed it over to him.

Mike sighed heavily, slumping down in the passenger seat. “This is definitely the most stressful thing you all have roped me into.”

“But we got our Dove back.” Michael said, choking a bit on his words as he took one hand off the wheel to squeeze Mike’s.

“We did.”

Henrietta laughed, running a hand through her hair. “Thank you, boys. Now, let’s go home.”

Pete reached out, twirling a strand of blonde around his finger. “We’ve got the dye and better clothes than this pink nightmare ready for you.”

“This isn’t over yet.” Firkle reminded them all. “There’s still the funeral.”

“I can be a grieving widow and still look like my real self. Everyone was well-fucking-aware of how I looked and dressed before my fucking parents forced me into marrying that abusive asshole.”

Pete nodded. “Besides, sudden trauma is known to cause people to make ‘drastic’ changes in an attempt to cope. And it really was lucky that you got out of the crash without more severe injuries.”

“We did our research, baby bat.” Michael said.

“I know, I helped.” Firkle crossed his arms with a pout. 

Karen reached out and patted his back. “We all did! And we got to commit homicide!”

Pete turned in his seat, ruffling her hair. “Couldn’t have done it without our little starling helping us with the car.”

The young teen giggled, pushing him away. “It wasn’t that impressive. And Kevin and Kenny taught me how to do it. I’m just happy to see Henrietta again.”

Firkle nodded, speaking quietly. “We would have been able to get you back sooner if that ass hadn’t kept you from us for so long.”

“But it worked out. And it’s going to keep working, so long as we remember our story.” Henrietta comforted, leaning over to press a bright red kiss to his cheek.

Firkle groaned, scrubbing his cheek. “Gross, Mother Morticia.”

“You love me.”

“I killed for you.”