DISCLAIMER: Women's Murder Club and its characters are the property of James Patterson, 20th Century Fox Television and ABC. No infringement intended.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Quis custoidiet ipsos custodes?
By Lesley Mitchell


There was a lull in the conversation after Lindsay excused herself and slid out from their booth. Two pairs of eyes followed the lean figure as it swayed and swaggered across the quiet diner towards the bathrooms.

Claire watched the watchers. At the moment that Jill drew breath, she cleared her throat firmly, attracting the blonde's attention. The near imperceptible shake of her head she directed at the lawyer gained her a defiant look, that passed through pleading and, finally, reached resignation. She tipped her head slightly towards the young reporter who sat beside her, still openly staring in the direction that Lindsay had left in, and Jill rolled her eyes dramatically.

"You know," Jill said, ignoring the frown that Claire now wore. "She once thought of getting a motorcycle."

She had timed the statement perfectly, as Lindsay disappeared from sight, Cindy's head whipped around to focus the full force of her enquiring gaze upon Jill. It was, she mused, almost comical.

"Yeah. It was a while back, after the divorce."

"Really?" This question was directed at Claire.

"Yes, really," confirmed Claire. "You have no idea how hard I had to fight to talk her out of it."

"Claire's right. It was a terrible idea," agreed Jill, easily, before lapsing into a calculated silence.

Cindy looked closely at the blonde, wondering if there was more to this non sequitur conversation. Just at the point where she was about to actually ask, Jill spoke again.

"But, well... If you think she looks good in the jacket..."

Cindy nodded involuntarily, unable to entirely contain her feelings.

"...you should see the whole outfit," finished Jill, with a knowing wink.

Cindy blanched, then flushed to the roots of her hair. Claire tutted, and Jill leaned back against the comfortable seats, with an altogether too smug look, and sipped her drink, one arm stretched out along the back of the bench seat.

A second or two later, Lindsay dropped back onto the green vinyl. She looked around the three silent women, taking stock of their expressions. She shook her head in disbelief.

"Y'all have really got to stop talking about me just because I've gone to the john."

The End

Return to Women's Murder Club Fiction

Return to Main Page