by Sandra Brown
“Glad to have been of service.”
“You’re damn right you were.”
Gradually Hammond’s smile receded. “I never would have guessed, Davee. You covered it well. What happened?”
“We met at the university. He was a preacher’s kid. Can you believe it? Me with a preacher’s kid. He was a real gentleman. Smart. Sensitive. Didn’t treat me like a tramp, and, hard as you may find this to believe, I didn’t act like one with him.”
She finished her drink and poured another. “But I had, of course. By the time I met him, I had whored my way across campus, through one dormitory, up one side of fraternity row and down the other. I’d even had a fling with one of my instructors.
“Miraculously he was blissfully unaware of my reputation. Some of my former partners thought it would be a great joke to tell him.” She moved to the window and stared through the louvers of the shutters.
“He was an excellent student. Dean’s list. Very straight. He didn’t party much. For all those reasons, he wasn’t well liked. The guys enjoyed humiliating him, figured it was his comeuppance for being so superior. They didn’t spare a single detail. They even had some pictures from a party where I was one of the favors.
“When he confronted me with all they’d told him, I was devastated that he knew the truth about me. I pleaded with him to forgive me. To try and understand. To believe that I had changed when I met him. But he refused even to listen.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead on the shutter. “That same night, to spite me, he slept with another girl. And she got pregnant.”
She remained so still that even her bracelets didn’t jangle. “From a moral and religious standpoint, abortion was out of the question. Nor would it ever have occurred to him to do other than what was right. So he married the girl. As strange as it may seem, Hammond, that’s when I loved him most. I had so wanted to have his children.”
He waited until he was certain that she was finished, until she moved again, and that was to raise her glass to her lips. “Have you kept track of him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he still married?”
“No.”
“Do you ever see him?”
She turned away from the window and looked at him. “Yesterday. At Lute’s funeral. He was seated near the back with Steffi Mundell. He’s still not very well liked.”
When Hammond pulled all the clues together, his jaw dropped open. Soundlessly his lips formed the name. “Rory Smilow?”
She gave a wry laugh. “There’s no accounting for taste, is there?”
Hammond pushed his hand up through his hair. “No wonder he hated Lute so much. First for his sister. Then you.”
“Well, actually it was the other way around. Lute’s marriage to Margaret didn’t come until years later. I remember when Rory moved to Charleston to accept the job with the police department. I read about it in the newspaper. I wanted to contact him then, but my pride wouldn’t let me.
“The woman he married had died giving birth to their stillborn baby.” She paused to reflect on the irony of that. “His parents were dead, so responsibility for Margaret had fallen on him. He moved her here with him. She got a clerical job in the courthouse. County records, plats, things like that. That’s where she met Lute. It wouldn’t surprise me if the romance developed after she did him a favor, like fudging a property line or something.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, either,” Hammond remarked. “I’ve heard the marriage was a nightmare.”
“Margaret was emotionally fragile. She was certainly no match for a bastard like Lute.” She finished her drink. “On occasion I had got good and tanked, swallowed my pride, and accidentally-on-purpose put myself in Rory’s path. He always looked right through me, as though we’d never known one another. That hurt, Hammond. It also pissed me off.
“So after Margaret’s suicide, I went after Lute and didn’t stop chasing him until he married me. Rory had broken my heart. So I tried to break his by marrying the man he most despised.” She added ruefully, “Revenge has a way of kicking the avenger in the ass, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Davee.”
“Ah, well, don’t be,” she said with a breeziness that Hammond knew was false. “I’ve still got my looks. This,” she said, holding up her highball glass, “didn’t destroy Mama’s beauty. She’s as gorgeous as ever, so I’m counting on good genes to ward off the ill effects of demon alcohol. I’ve got lots of money. As soon as Lute’s will is probated, I’ll have lots more. Speaking of which…”
She walked to an antique desk and opened the slender lap drawer. “This fucking stroll down memory lane almost made me forget. I found this while going through some papers in Lute’s desk. It’s in his handwriting.” She handed him a pale green Post-It note. “That’s last Saturday’s date, isn’t it?”
Hammond’s vision blurred around the notation.
“Lute wrote down your name and a five o’clock time. Looks to me like an appointment. Which I’m sure you would rather no one knew about.”
He looked across at her. “It’s not what you think.”
She laughed. “Hammond, honey, I’d sooner believe in cellulite-reducing creams than I would believe you capable of committing murder. I don’t know what it signifies and don’t want to know. I just thought you should have it.”
He stared at the second notation on the small square of paper. “He wrote down another time. Six o’clock. No name. Any ideas?”
“None. There’s nothing on his official day planner about any appointments on Saturday, with you or anyone else.”
Obviously Lute had intended to meet with someone else that afternoon, following his appointment with him. Who? he wondered. Thoughtfully, he folded the small piece of paper and put it in his pocket. “Rightfully, you should have given this to Smilow.”
“When have you ever known me to do the right thing?” Her mischievous smile turned wistful. “I learned the hard way that it’s a waste of time to try and hurt Rory. I don’t believe he can be hurt.” Then her smile disappeared altogether. “But I don’t feel compelled to do him any favors, either.”
Chapter 25
“He was here with me last night.” Ellen Rogers had to shout to make herself heard above the music. “We sat at that table for hours and ordered several rounds of drinks. You must remember.”
The bartender, a hunky young man with a sleek ponytail and a silver hoop in his eyebrow, looked her over in a way that said she was remarkably forgettable. “I see lots of people. Night after night. I don’t remember all their faces. They sorta run together in my head, you know?”
A leggy blonde in a tight black dress undulated onto the neighboring barstool. The bartender reached across Ellen to light the blonde’s cigarette. “What are you having?”
“What’s good?”
He propped his elbows on the bar and leaned closer to her. “That all depends on what you’re after.”
“Excuse me,” Ellen interrupted. She wound up having to tap the bartender on the shoulder to regain his attention. “If he comes back—the guy I was with last night—call me. Okay?”
With little hope it would do any good, she pushed a slip of paper toward him. “Here’s the number of my hotel.”
“Okay.”
She watched him pocket the telephone number, knowing that his dry cleaner would probably find it in a couple of days. She had entered the club with the proud, purposeful stride of a crusader. She was a woman on a mission.
This morning, after the initial shock had worn off and she’d had time to pull herself together, she had determined to track down the lying son of a bitch and turn him over to the police.
When darkness fell, she had set out with the intention of canvassing every nightclub in Charleston if that’s what it took to find and expose him. This character had hustling down to an art. Looking back, she realized that he had been too smooth for her to have been his first victim. Nor would she be his last. Feeling heady and confident after last night’s
success, her seducer would be on the prowl again tonight.
But now as she left the club, her zeal was already on the wane. She acknowledged how foolhardy it was to be traipsing around Charleston looking for a liar and thief she knew only as Eddie, which in all likelihood was an assumed name.
The new patent leather pumps she had bought especially for this vacation trip were pinching her toes, reducing her march to a hobble. She was hungry, but each time she had tried to eat today, her stomach had grown queasy from last night’s liquor consumption and this morning’s self-loathing.
Not that she could afford to eat at any decent restaurants, she reminded herself sourly. She had notified the credit card companies of the theft, but it would be days before she received replacement cards. Luckily she had remembered tucking some cash into the pocket of a blazer. It was a fraction of the amount Eddie had stolen, but if she was frugal it would see her home.
So why not just cut her losses and go?
Charleston had been spoiled for her. The sultry heat that had enhanced the city’s romantic appeal now made her irritable and headachy. If she stayed as long as planned, she wouldn’t be able to afford any tours or attractions. Fewer nights here would mean a smaller hotel bill.
Common sense told her to return to Indianapolis tomorrow. The airline would charge her for changing her ticket, but the fee would be worth it. In her safe little house, with her two cats and familiar belongings, she could retreat to lick her wounds until the fall semester began. Eventually work and routine would crowd the nasty incident from her mind.
In any case, slogging through Charleston searching for Eddie was a waste of time and effort.
On the other hand, even now, while she was limping along in her uncomfortable, blister-rubbing patent leather shoes, he was probably working his con on another lonely lady who would wake up tomorrow morning relieved of her pocketbook and her self-respect. The crime would go unreported because the victim was too ashamed to report it to the authorities. That’s why Eddie could do it with such arrogance—he could get away with it.
Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it this time. “Not if I can help it,” Ellen Rogers said out loud.
With renewed determination, she entered the next club.
* * *
Hammond slid into the booth across from Loretta. “What have you got for me?”
“No hello or how are you?”
“I’m fresh out of pleasantries today.”
“You look like shit.”
“You must be out of pleasantries, too.” Hammond smiled grimly. “Actually, that’s the second time today that it’s been noted how ragged I look. That’s how my day started out, in fact.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You haven’t got that much time. I’m running out of time myself, so do you have something for me, or not?”
“I called you, didn’t I?” she retorted.
He didn’t blame her for taking umbrage. He was acting like a jerk. His visit with Davee had left him more disconcerted than before. When he got in his car and used his cell phone to check for messages, he was only half glad to hear Loretta’s voice urging him to meet her as soon as possible at the Shady Rest Lounge. Seeing her meant extending a day he was ready to put to a close. Conversely, he was anxious to know what her probe had turned up.
Shaking his head and sighing heavily, he apologized. “I’m in a pisser of a mood, Loretta, but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”
“You need a drink.”
“Your solution for everything.”
“Not for everything. Not by a long shot. But it can be a Band-Aid cure for a bad mood.” She ordered him a bourbon and water.
In less than a minute, he had the drink in his hand and was taking a sip. “You look good.”
She laughed around a swallow of club soda. “Maybe when viewed through the bottom of a highball glass.”
She had undergone noticeable improvements since Monday night. She was far better groomed, her clothes were clean and pressed. Correctly applied makeup had softened the lines in her face. Her eyes were bright and clear. Although she had tried to laugh off his compliment, he could tell she was flattered.
“I’ve cleaned up a little, is all.”
“Put some color in your hair?”
“Bev’s idea.”
“Good one.”
“Thanks.” Self-consciously she raised her hand and patted her rejuvenated hairdo. “She was happy to hear I had a job. I told her it was just temporary, but, well, she was still glad. She let me move back into the apartment, under the condition—she’s big on conditions, just like you—that I keep perfect attendance at the AA meetings.”
“How’re you doing?”
“I get the morning shakes, but I’m dealing with it.”
“That’s good, Loretta. That’s real good,” he said, meaning it. He paused, signaling the conclusion of that topic before moving on to the reason for the meeting. “What have you got for me?”
She winked. “The motherlode. You’ll probably recommend that I get a staff position with the solicitor’s office. You might even ask me to have your children.”
“That good?”
He set his drink aside. It wasn’t mixing well with the one he’d drunk at Davee’s party. Besides, he got the feeling that the information he was about to receive would be upsetting, and it would be better dealt with if his head were clear.
“I have a mole who shall remain nameless, a real computer geek—”
“Knuckle.”
“You know him?”
“Harvey’s my mole, too. He’s everybody’s mole.”
“Are you shitting me?” she asked, astonished and more than a little abashed and angry.
“You weaseled him, right?”
“Damn!” she said, slapping the tabletop. “I can’t believe that pompous little fucker made me feel guilty for twisting his arm and trying to get him to compromise his integrity.”
“He’s thoroughly corruptible. That’s why I didn’t go to him directly. He’s untrustworthy.”
Hammond wasn’t worried that Harvey’s delving into Alex’s records would be traced back to him. He believed Loretta when she vowed they would have to cut out her tongue before she would betray his confidence. But he wondered if anyone else had tried to coerce Knuckle for the same purpose. “When you approached him, did Harvey know anything about the case?”
“He didn’t appear to. But now I’m doubting him, as well as my own instincts. Why?”
Hammond raised a shoulder. “I’m just curious if anyone else asked him to run a trace on Dr. Ladd.”
“Like Steffi Mundell?”
“Or Smilow.”
“If Harvey is everyone’s mole, I guess that’s a possibility. But, honestly, Hammond, he acted surprised and pleased that I was including him on my investigation.”
Nodding, he indicated the letter-size envelope beneath her right hand. “Let’s have the scoop.”
She opened the envelope and removed several folded sheets of paper. From what Hammond could tell, they were typewritten notes. By now Loretta had reviewed the information so many times, she had practically memorized it. She referred to the typewritten data only to verify specific dates.
“Impressive,” he murmured as she enumerated Alex Ladd’s scholastic accomplishments, most of which he already knew. Any relief he felt, however, was short-lived.
“Hold on. I haven’t got to the good stuff yet.”
“By good, do you really mean bad?”
“She doesn’t have as impressive a record in Tennessee.”
“What happened there?”
“What didn’t?”
She then told him what Harvey Knuckle had mined from unmineable juvenile records. It didn’t make for easy listening. By the time Loretta finished, half an hour had passed and Hammond was wishing he hadn’t drunk any whiskey that evening. He was fairly certain he was going to see it recycled. Now he understood what Alex had meant last night about his being disi
llusioned, about explanations being painful. She hadn’t wanted to share, and now he knew why.
Loretta replaced the sheets of paper in the envelope and triumphantly handed it to him. “I didn’t find the link between her and Pettijohn. That remains a mystery.”
“I think—thought,” he amended, “that she was too classy to have any link to Lute. Apparently I was wrong.”
He slid the envelope and its incriminating contents into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. His dejection wasn’t lost on her. “You don’t seem very excited.”
“I couldn’t have asked for more thorough coverage. You should feel very good about the way you pulled yourself together and came through for me. You more than made up for past mistakes. Thanks.”
He scooted to the end of the booth, but Loretta reached across the table and seized his hand. “What is with you, Hammond?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I thought you’d be over the moon.”
“It’s good stuff, no question.”
“And it only took me two days.”
“Can’t complain about the short turnaround, either.”
“It definitely gives you something to work with, doesn’t it?”
“Definitely.”
“So why do you look so goddamn glum?”
“I guess I’m embarrassed.”
“By what?”
“This,” he said, tapping his jacket outside the breast pocket. “It indicates that I’m a lousy judge of character. I honestly didn’t think she was capable of…” His voice trailed off, leaving his complete thought unspoken.
“Alex Ladd, you mean?” He nodded. “You think she’s innocent? That Smilow is barking up the wrong tree? Has she come up with an alibi?”
“It’s weak. She says she went to a county fair in Beaufort. No corroboration.” It seemed lying came easily now. Even to trusted friends. “Anyway, in light of this information, an unsubstantiated alibi seems academic.”
“I could—”
“Excuse me, Loretta. As I said earlier, it’s been a rough day, and I’m exhausted.”