Nevada Barr - Naked Came The Phoenix

"That's all," he dismissed her. "For now."

Lauren Sullivan greeted his question with laughter, full-throated, easy hilarity, as if it were the one truly funny thing she had heard in all this miserable affair.

"Good heavens, Detective," she said, controlling her mirth at last. "I'm sure you don't mean to be insulting, but I assure you, I have no need whatsoever of descending to work with a man like that. I'll pretend you didn't ask and tell you frankly that I was vaguely sorry for him, but even he had more sense than to imagine I would agree, and more dignity, even when he was drunk, than to ask me."

There was something about her luminous beauty that enthralled Toscana even though he kept telling himself she was a suspect. Sitting here talking to her, hearing that wonderful voice, he felt as if he were part of someone else's story, and they would all live happily ever after, however unlikely it now seemed. She may look guilty, circumstantial evidence might pile up against her, but in the end it would all unravel and it would be someone else who was the killer.

"When did you last see Mr. Fondulac?" he said aloud.

"About ten minutes before that awful scream," she replied. "I was in the shower just through the passage from the gym."

"Did anybody see you?" he asked.

Her eyebrows shot up and she gave a sudden, delicious laugh. "No! I'm an actress, Detective, and I accept that I court the public eye a good deal, but there are some things I do not perform for viewing, and taking a shower is one of them!"

He felt the heat rise in his face and could have kicked himself for his clumsiness. He started to explain, to apologize, then stopped abruptly. It was time he reexerted his authority.

"This is a double murder investigation, Miss Sullivan. I need to know the truth so I can arrest whoever is responsible before it becomes a triple murder, or worse."

She sobered up instantly, and the pallor of her face made him realize how fragile her control was. "I was probably the last person to see him," she admitted. "Apart from whoever killed him, and that certainly wasn't me. I walked through the gym because I was looking for Hilda Finch and I'd seen her going that way, but she wasn't there, so I gave up and had a shower. It wasn't all that important."

"Mrs. Finch was going that way? When?"

She bit her lip. "Almost five minutes before I did." She looked at him steadily, very well aware of what she had said.

"Why did you want to see her?" he pressed.

"She owns the spa," she said reasonably. "It was to do with treatments, and… personal."

He let it pass. He would never prove otherwise anyway. "Thank you, Miss Sullivan. That's all for now."

She rose and left, walking with her own individual grace. He could not help watching her, and the image stayed in his mind for several minutes afterward.

Naturally he sent for Hilda Finch next. She kept him waiting fifteen minutes, answered all his questions simply and briefly, and denied any responsibility for either Howard Fondulac's or Claudia de Vries's deaths.

"For heaven's sake, Detective!" she said tartly. "I own Phoenix Spa. Do you imagine I want any more deaths here? Claudia spent millions advertising this place. One death is difficult to overcome, but with hard work it might be accepted as misfortune. A string of them is a catastrophe!"

Looking at her sharp, elegant face with its penetrating eyes he could believe the reputation of the spa was her chief concern and the murders potentially a financial problem. He certainly learned nothing more from her, and she left him feeling more confused than ever, wondering whom to see next and what to ask.

Caroline had refused to see Douglas after their first sharp and very brief encounter, but she knew that a showdown was inevitable sooner or later. She couldn't remain locked in her room indefinitely. And she would not allow him to make her a prisoner, damn him!

It happened early the next day down near the lake with the sun glittering off the water and a very slight breeze carrying the scent of flowers from the bushes around the cottages. She saw his familiar figure striding toward her, and for an instant she felt the old pleasure, as if nothing had happened and everything was perfect, as it had been only a week ago.

Except that of course it hadn't. If she were not so naive she would have known that. She turned to face him, swallowing hard and straightening her shoulders.

He stopped in front of her.

She struggled to keep control and use her brain instead of the emotions boiling up inside her: grief for what she had lost and hope that perhaps it wasn't totally gone after all; shame for the fool she had been to be taken in by him; and rage at his duplicity, the way he had used her. "Yes, Douglas, what is it?" she said a little breathlessly.

"Have you had time to reconsider your decision regarding a divorce?" He was straight to the point. It startled her that he did not try any charm or prevarication at all. It was unlike him not to attempt the easier way first. He believed in his own power to win people, and to be honest he had had good cause to. Damn it, she had given him good cause! When had she ever failed to melt into his arms when he tried hard enough?

"And why should time make any difference?" she asked icily. "Would a day, or a year, change the facts?"

His smile was chilly. She used to think he was so handsome, almost beautiful because of the confidence and the charm and the kindness inside him. Now he was ugly. There was a slackness somewhere, a meanness of spirit.

"Time could change your perception of the facts," he answered. "You might develop a much clearer idea of what is important and what isn't."

"You mean I might acquire your idea of it!" she said witheringly. "Please, God, I hope not! The day I believe power and office mean everything, and honesty means nothing, I'd be better off dead!"

"Yes." He shoved his hands hard into his pockets and stared down, then up again quickly. "Well, death is a whole other subject. One I'd prefer to avoid, if possible."

She felt a chill ripple over her, and it was not from the breeze off the lake.

"I care about my career, Caroline," he went on. "And I intend to succeed. I don't think you have fully appreciated that."

A tingle of danger passed over her, but she ignored it. "Of course I appreciate it!" she said angrily. "'And I wanted to help you with it. I imagined being by your side…" She was forced to stop by the emotion almost choking her. Why was it so desperately, agonizingly difficult to watch a dream die?

"I intend that you shall be," he said, and for an instant he seemed uncertain whether to try being charming or not. The smile was there, but then it faded and the hardness returned. Perhaps he realized it was too late.

"I won't!" she retorted, and now she sounded like a petulant child.

"Grow up, Caroline!" he said sharply, staring across the lake, his face hard. "It's time you started to think like an adult and faced a few realities of life. This is not kids playing games where you can throw your toys away and storm off in a sulk if it doesn't go your way." He turned back to her. "If you don't want to get very badly hurt, then you'd better start thinking of the consequences of your behavior."

She exploded with a bellow of laughter, rough edged with fury and indignation. "That's wonderful, coming from you! I'm not the one whose career is in jeopardy because I went whoring around the place with anything that wasn't nailed down or had four legs! And was careless enough to be photographed doing it!"

He blushed dark red, but she wondered if it was shame for having done such things, or embarrassment at his own stupidity in having been caught and recorded for posterity, in particular for the newspapers and the divorce court. She was afraid it was the latter. She might have forgiven him had it been the first.