Melody Unchained. Christa Maurice

      The door opened behind her. Jerry! Finally he could take her home. Melody spun around.

      Not Jerry. A small black woman with a mustard colored blouse and a pissed off expression stood before her. “Good morning, Miss– Melody. My name is Stella Jackson and I’m from Social Services. I understand you’ve had a difficult few days. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

      “Where is Jerry?” Melody frowned as a cold snake coiled in her chest.

      Stella Jackson stopped in the process of dropping a file folder on the table. “Jerry?”

      “Yes, Jerry. He was here earlier. He needs to take me home with him.”

      “He does?”

      “Yes.” Melody folded her arms. “Where is Jerry? I don’t want to talk to anybody else.”

      “Well, Jerry isn’t here anymore. His shift ended and he went home. I need to ask you some questions.” She finished putting the folder down and sat.

      “I don’t want to talk to you. I only want to talk to Jerry.”

      “Why?”

      “Because he is going to take me home with him.”

      Stella Jackson raised one eyebrow. “Did he promise to take you home with him?”

      Melody cocked her head. When he left, he’d been flustered and told her to wait, but he hadn’t said he would be back for her. But why wouldn’t he be? He had been aroused. No man had ever walked away from her. He would want her in his bed, and when he tasted her cooking, he would want her in his kitchen too. “No, but I’m sure he will take me home. Men always take me home.”

      “Men always take you home?” Stella Jackson repeated.

      This was not going right. She needed to get out of this room so she could find Jerry. In his younger days, Billy had been something of a hellion. He had told her stories about his scrapes with the law. In his infirmity, he had liked to watch crime shows, which had given her more information about how the police worked. She’d never realized how handy that could be. “Are you charging me with something?”

      “No.”

      “Then I demand that you release me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

      “No, but you were found living as a prisoner in the apartment of a dead man.”

      “I wasn’t a prisoner.”

      “You were locked in a closet and you had been there for some time.” Stella stood and gestured to the chair across from her. “Please, have a seat so we can talk.”

      Melody straightened. This being free was a little more complicated than she’d thought. Stella Jackson would not allow her to leave unless she spun the proper story. Melody settled in the chair, trying to remember the hundreds of television shows she had watched with Billy. One of them had to have something useful in it. “I was not locked in the closet. I shut myself in there.”

      “Why?”

      Good question. “Because I was upset. Billy, my grandfather, was very dear to me. I was devastated by his loss.” She sniffled, but Stella Jackson wasn’t buying it so she stopped. “Please, I’m upset and tired and hungry. I would like to go home. I need to make arrangements for my grandfather Billy.”

      “When we’re done here.”

      “You cannot hold me.”

      Stella Jackson pursed her lips. “You will not be released until we are certain you aren’t a danger to yourself or others.”

      “I am not a danger to anyone.” Melody sighed, hoping that made her look a little more pathetic. “I loved my grandfather. I moved in with him a few–” Years ago? Months ago? Days ago? Billy had been sick for a long time, but how much or little time would they believe, considering her state? “Months ago to care for him in his old age.”

      “From where?”

      From where? “Las Vegas.” Billy had loved CSI. She could lie convincingly about that city. According to Burn Notice the trick to lying effectively was to sell it with confidence.

      Stella made a note. “What did you do in Las Vegas?”

      “Do?”

      “For a living.”

      So many questions. There were never this many questions on the television shows. “I was a stripper.”

      Stella sighed. Melody didn’t think she meant to reveal it but a flicker of irritation showed in the woman’s eyes. According to Billy, strippers earned a lot of untraceable income and if television was correct, untraceable income meant the police wouldn’t be surprised when they couldn’t find any records of her. She’d have rather said nurse, but that required licenses and records. Maybe now that she was free Jerry could help her become a nurse.

      “So you were a stripper in Las Vegas until a few months ago when you moved here to take care of your grandfather.”

      “Yes.”

      “And you were in that closet because…”

      She was in that closet because after she came to, Billy was dead and she hadn’t known what to do so she’d fallen back on experience. Climb into a small space and wait until someone came to get her. Stella Jackson wasn’t going to accept that answer. Or rather she would, as she was signing Melody’s papers for the loony bin. What would be a good reason for hiding in a closet for four days? On that episode of CSI where all those girls got killed in the house, the one hid under the bed before she died completely in Sara Sidle’s arms. But Billy died of being old so she couldn’t have been hiding from a murderer. She had to have a better reason. “I wasn’t home the whole time.”

      “You weren’t?”

      “No. I went out. I was gone for a couple of days.” Oooh, this was good. It explained why there wasn’t anywhere made up for her to sleep. “I went out partying.”

      “Partying?”

      “Yes, and while I was gone Billy died. I felt terrible and in my grief I did what I used to do as a child when I was upset. I hid in the closet and cried.”

      “After taking off your clothes and putting on a men’s dress shirt.”

      They were lucky she’d been wearing the shirt. Most of the time she walked around naked. Most of her masters preferred it that way. She was lucky too. Naked would have been much harder to explain. “I had already gotten ready for bed before I found Billy. I wasn’t paying attention to him the way I should have been. I’m a terrible person.” Melody bit her lip. She was also a terrible actress. Billy made fun of people on television who delivered lines that way.

      Stella Jackson let out a gusty breath. “Fine. I’ve had a real bad night so I’m going to take that answer. Do you need grief counseling or anything?”

      “No. I just need a ride back to Billy’s house.”

      “Fine. I’ll send someone in.” Stella Jackson grabbed her file and walked out.

      Melody folded her hands on the table. Now she could find Jerry Howland, her new master.