Клэр Донелли - Hiss And Tell

“If you’re worried about your story leaking, I can assure you that Sunny and I will keep it confidential.” Will’s tone suggested that it wasn’t worth spreading around.

“No, it was interesting to discuss the Taxman with a law-enforcement type—even if you dismissed my ideas,” Randall said. “Maybe what I really need to do is find a professional who’ll accept them.”

Good luck with that. Sunny could just imagine how the no-nonsense Lieutenant Wainwright would react to Randall’s theorizing. Aloud, she said, “I guess you’ll have to do what you think is best. Nobody’s going to hear about the Taxman from Will or me.”

That pretty much ended the meeting. Will picked up the tab, and in moments he and Sunny were back in his car. “This is just what we need,” Will muttered, “some amateur messing around in the case.”

“Right,” Sunny agreed. “That’s my job.”

Will glanced over at her. “It doesn’t help that he’s an ex-boyfriend.” He took a deep breath. “It also shouldn’t matter.”

Sunny took the cue. Keep it work related. “So, tomorrow, you figure I should try and tackle Beau Bellingham?”

“He’s a person of interest as of now,” Will said. “At least you can see if what he tells you jibes with what he’s telling Wainwright.”

“Was he the last to see Eliza?” Sunny asked.

Will shook his head. “She was last seen on a security monitor, passing the main house around midnight.”

“Did the surveillance catch her leaving the guesthouse?”

Will nodded.

“And she was heading someplace where there’d be no cameras to record whatever happened.” Sunny frowned. “Beau is Carson’s friend, and Carson said this was Beau’s first visit to Neal’s Neck. So how would he know which areas were private—and which weren’t?”

“Maybe Eliza set the meeting place,” Will suggested. “She was also Priscilla’s friend; maybe she’d been there before. We’ve got a guy meeting a girl. That’s pretty simple,” he argued.

“Not so simple,” Sunny countered. “It’s a guy who’s been going out with a girl—and just had a big fight with her.”

“I’ve got three words for you,” Will said. “Make-up sex. Or is that only two?”

“Then Beau Bellingham just happened to strangle Eliza after?” Sunny shook her head.

“The word you’re looking for is unpremeditated,” Will responded. “And after the way they made a spectacle of themselves that afternoon, it might explain a certain amount of sneaking around when they decided to bury the hatchet—or whatever. Bellingham creeps off for a booty call, things go badly, and he’s left with a dead girlfriend and no alibi.”

He grinned at Sunny. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to toss that question into casual conversation.”

“Sure.” Sunny sighed. “And speaking of sneaking, now I’ve got to get back into the house without waking anybody—or disturbing whatever else they may be up to.”

10

Even without analarm clock or a schedule, Sunny still found herself waking up the next morning at the same time she usually rose for work. The old house was quiet as she got washed and dressed, so she was surprised when she padded down the stairs to find coffee, rolls, and various fixings already prepared in the kitchen—and Priscilla and Carson having breakfast. Cillie smiled as Sunny joined them at the table. “Tommy is a partner in his firm and makes his own hours, and Yardley likes to sleep in. But I guess us regular working people are programmed for early rising.”

“Not that we necessarily like it.” Carson smothered a yawn. “And Peter is the mad genius type who’ll work on something until five in the morning and then crash all day.”

Sunny saw an opening. “What’s the story with your friend Beau?”

Maybe it was the matrimonial hormones speaking, but Cillie went straight into matchmaking mode. “He’s single, available, and going to be a doctor.”

“Um.” Sunny tried to figure out an answer to that without blowing her cover as a murder investigator. “I was really asking why he seems to be asleep most of the time.”

“That’s because of the brutal schedule he leads.” Carson shook his head. “Beau can put in eighty, even a hundred hours a week as a resident. Besides working in the hospital, he’s still doing conferences and lectures by day, and he’s on call every other night. When he gets some time off, the first couple of days go toward catching up on sleep.”

“According to Carson, Beau should be coming out of hibernation today.” Priscilla grinned.

“I gotta admire him,” Carson said. “Back in school, most of us were just learning how to shuffle money. But from the beginning, Beau was on the premed track. He wanted to do something useful with his life, even if he was also our beer pong champ.”

“I suspect he was also the life of the party in the frat houses.” Sunny grinned. “So if we wind up doing a beer pong tournament tonight, set me up on his team.”

Carson’s face took on an interesting expression. “Beer pong. Do you think we could get away with it?” he asked Cillie.

“As long as the Senator doesn’t hear about it,” she replied. “Maybe out here by the pool. I could talk to Uncle Cale about it.”

“It will have to be tonight,” Carson said. “There was a text message waiting for me when I got up. My parents get in tomorrow.”

Sunny’s reportorial antennae quivered. “You make it sound like all fun ends then.”

“No, but things will get a bit more . . . conventional.” Priscilla chose her words carefully, glancing at her fiancé. “In old WASP families, in the privacy of our summer places, things tend to be a bit, well, informal.”

Translation: shabby, Sunny thought.

Carson looked around at the comfortable but hardly stylish dining room. “And, while de Kruk is an old name in New York, there wasn’t money behind it until my grandfather made his pile, which then Dad parlayed into the stratosphere. Our new wealth requires a lot of marble, gold plating, and publicity—plus some pretty starchy manners. As my father once put it to me, ‘No goddamn SOB is going to call me gauche!’”

“Oh, dear. Will I have to dig out my long white opera gloves for dinner?” Sunny asked.

That got a laugh out of them. “No,” Cillie responded, “but I think you will see ties on the guys.”

“In that case, I think I’d better go home and collect some more-appropriate clothes.” Sunny sighed. She’d hoped to get by with a more casual look, hanging out with Cillie and the younger set. But now she had no choice but to raid what she considered her reporter’s wardrobe for anything that would pass muster with the de Kruks.

“Just let me know when you want to go, and I’ll arrange for a car,” Cillie said.

“Thanks.” Sunny poured herself a cup of coffee, got a roll, cut it open, and spread some preserves on the two halves. The warm roll was delicious, and so was the brew. “And now, a nosy blogger question: I was thinking that today’s post might be about wedding presents.”

“Oh, there’ve been several parties already with gifts galore.” Carson rolled his eyes.

Priscilla dove into the nuts and bolts. “We have a few wedding registries, though of course some people sent old family pieces.”

“AKA, ancient monstrosities that they didn’t want in their own houses anymore,” Carson put in. “Maybe someday, when we have the space, we could have a ‘dud gifts’ room, where all that stuff can sit around and be ugly together. Which is sort of what they’re doing right now, up at the big house.”

“The gifts are here, not still in New York?” Sunny asked in surprise.