This is a story I decided to write after reading two crime novels this week. Hope you enjoy it.

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CHAPTER ONE

"Abigail!"

I heard my mother screech from the other side of my door. She knew I hated being called by my full name. Hated. Almost as much as I hated her. No. Hate is not the right word... Loathed. That was it.

"Alright, mother!" I could never bring myself to call her "mom". She was far from it. A "mom" was a teacher, a confidant, a best friend. My mother was was none of the above. Come to think of it, my mothers personal assistant, Trudy, was my "mom". I rose lazily out of bed and made my way to my neverending closet, or so it seemed. I've never worn the same outfit twice. I see your face and know what you're thinking. "Seriously?" Yes. Seriously. My mother was disgusted by repetition. Something about our skin being filthy, our clothes becoming tainted, whatever. So, because of paranoia, we shopped every weekend. And every weekend we donated the clothes to charity that we had worn the previous week. My mother was a control freak. Then again, most actresses are.

Yeah. That's right. I said actress. My birth giver, Lee Monroe. Not to be confused with Marilyn, though my mother acted like it. Million dollar home. Diamonds. Pearls. A Mercedes Benz, and a beauty queen daughter. You got it, beauty pageants. Back when I was a child, my mother always entered me in contests. I despised them. But, my mother, insisted. My bedroom wall was lined with trophies, all first place. Who would expect anything less? That's all I was to her though. A trophy.

Forgive me, reader. I tend to ramble in my disdain for my mother and childhood. In so doing, I believe I have gotten off topic. Exactly what that topic is, will be revealed shortly. Back to the show, as they say.

I heard a knock on the door. Assuming it was Lee, I ran to the door and threw it open. "What?!" The person on the other side flinched at my outburst. "Oh! So sorry, Trudy! I thought you were her." Trudy smiled her mom smile as I motioned her inside. "It's quite alright, sweetheart. You almost ready for school?" Trudy said as she plopped down on my bed, hugging a teddy bear to her chest. "School? You mean that's what they call my prison?" I glanced back at her as I pulled my plaid skirt on. She chuckled. I loved Trudy. Trudy was my mom in place of my mother. If that makes any sense to you?

As I buttoned up my shirt, I plucked my iPod from the nightstand. I figured the morning could use a little music. I scrolled with my thumb through my library of tunes, selected one of my favorite songs, and hit play. Trudy's eyes lit up. I knew this was one of her favorite songs too. Trudy began singing:

"If I die young
Bury me in satin
Lay me down..."

I decided to join in. I never really liked Country music, but this song was awesome. I placed my iPod on the dresser, while Trudy continued to sing in unison with me. I pulled my knee highs on, and my Mary Janes. I didn't go to a Catholic school, but I loved to dress like it occasionally. Skimpy skirt, button up white dress shirt. Hell, I was comfortable, and today was Senior picture day. You see, reader, I went to a prestigious High School in upper Manhattan. Just near Ground Zero. Basically, you needed a credit check just to look at the place. Nothing but the best for the daughter of Lee Monroe, no matter the cost. Truth was, my mother didn't care about my education. She just wanted me out of her hair, and someone else's problem. You'd never hear that from the media though. No. The media can only confirm what has been told to them, and report it to everyone. Funny how money can persuade anyone to do anything. Like keep their mouth shut. Behind closed doors, I'm sure my mother hated me. In public, I was her pride and joy. Aah.. Social Media manipulation at its finest.

"Abigail Suzanna Monroe!" Lee burst through the door. Her platoon of make-up artists and hairstylists, following her like lost ducklings. Preening and tweezing as she stood in my doorway. "You're going to be late for school young lady." She pursed her lips as the artist applied lipstick. "Lee, I am leaving now. Calm down, you'll get a wrinkle." She hated the thought if getting old and losing her beauty. Lee glared at me, then pointed to my iPod. "Turn that crap off. And get downstairs. Your driver is waiting." The door slammed behind her and I'm sure a cold chill came from it.
I sneered, "your driver is waiting, blah, blah, blah.. UGH!" I said mockingly. Trudy just eyed the bear. "She does love you, you know?" She said, glancing up at me. I rolled my eyes and brushed my hair. I gave Trudy a hug and grabbed my backpack. "I'll see you later." I said, as I walked out of my room. I heard Trudy sigh. Trudy plays a valuable part in my story. Her and my mother.

My mother was soon going to be facing the biggest media coverage of her career. Trudy as well. By looking at her, Trudy was very plain.. Yet very intelligent. My mother was pretty smart, too. So it's no surprise that these two women would handle this situation amazingly. And together they would solve it.

This controversy was like no other.

An investigation.

A murder investigation.

Whose murder do you ask?

..Mine..

Yeah. you read that right, but I will get to that shortly. Do I have your attention? Great. Let's continue where I left off. Our driver was waiting downstairs as usual. Classical music could be heard escaping the cracked window of the black Chrysler 300. A tall burly man exited the driver side and made his way to the back passenger door. He was a ginger, with piercing green eyes. He smiled at me that same happy smile. Never forced. Always natural. It was rather comforting to see someone genuine in my life of pretenders. "Good morning, Ms. Monroe", he said as he gestured me into the car. "Morning, Mr. Ellington", I smiled. I climbed inside and settled in. It was only three blocks to my school, but with paparazzi stalking my front gate, I'd never make it. Unless, I went through a secret passage only I knew. I haven't used it in years.

Since the last time...