Death in the Saddle, Ch 14

Mary Bruxton held a cell phone to her ear and stopped in front of the dressing room mirror. She released the tie to her sheer robe, studied her partially nude form, and pouted. “It’s seven o’clock. Are you still on the movie set? Yes, Darling, he’s been served and he’s out of the house except for a few remaining items that his chauffeur collects and brings to him. Oh sure, there’ll be a court battle—you can count on that. The attorneys’ fees will be staggering—can’t be helped—he’s as stubborn as he is conniving. My attorneys will plead incompatibility, spousal abuse, and rape—that’s right, rape. More than once he’s forced himself on me when I was ill and emotionally non-receptive—that and a lot of other charges I can’t even begin to recall. The lawyers are convinced my case is gold-bonded. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 14”

Death in the Saddle, Ch 4

Jim Keyes, chauffeuring the Bruxton’s Bentley north on Monterey Avenue, looked in the rear view mirror to watch Peter Bruxton reviewing the pages of questions prepared for him. This was the morning Bruxton’s public relations agency had scheduled a TV appearance at the studio in Desert Hot Springs, and his boss was clearly nervous. The sedan pulled into the parking lot one hour before scheduled airtime, and Bruxton rushed out before the chauffeur could open his door. Continue reading “Death in the Saddle, Ch 4”