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"You're Freddie Lounds."
Freddie halts in the middle of her carefully prepared speech and glances over at Bedelia, who is sitting in her low chair, legs crossed at the knee, the hint of an amused smile playing at her thin lips.
"I'm sorry," Freddie replies, forcing confusion into her voice. "I think you're mistaken."
"Lies are beneath people like us," Bedelia says, smoothly rising from her chair. She crosses the space between them with sure steps and stops mere inches from Freddie. With the pointed heels she's wearing, Bedelia is just tall enough that Freddie has to tilt her head back to look into her frosty blue eyes. "Did you record my session with Will Graham?"
"Yes," Freddie replies curtly. Bedelia's amused smirk grows larger.
"Give me the recorder." Freddie fishes the small device from her purse, and Bedelia plucks it from her palm with long fingers before she drops it to the floor and crushes it with a single, hard stomp of her shoe.
She doesn't look away from Freddie once.
"Ms. Lounds," she begins, the broken recorder crunching underneath her feet as she moves again, propelling Freddie back towards a red couch set against the wall, "not only was that illegal, but it was very rude." When Freddie's legs hit the edge of the couch, she drops to the plush cushions, and Bedelia joins her, her movements sure and silent.
"So," she continues, placing one sharp-tipped finger underneath Freddie's chin, "what am I going to do about you?"