“Well, I don’t know. Everyone on the girls’ side would’ve been by around one-thirty anyway. I know that sounds silly, but the singers are all girls, and we’re all on stage left, so we call it the girls’ side.”
“Anyone missing, or late?”
“I just don’t know. My sisters and I went straight out to rehearse, and I can’t recall anyone not being there when we switched off so the Eternal Lights could rehearse.”
“And your father?”
“I heard him doing sound checks. He had such a big voice. Then we all rehearsed the final song, and the encore. I went to spend some time with Walt and Jilly—my husband and my daughter.”
“Okay. What’s the address where you’re staying?”
Eve noted it down, nodded. “Thank you, Josie.”
“I know God has a plan. And I know whoever did this will answer to God. But I hope you’ll see that whoever did this answers here on Earth before that day.”
“Well, that’s my plan.”
Eve went back out, wound around to Roarke, who sat front row center, happily playing with his pocket PPC. “Status?”
“God is a very big, and very lucrative business. Want a report?”
“Not just yet. You should go home.”
“Why do you always want to spoil my fun?”
She leaned down until they were eye to eye. “His wife loved him. That’s no bullshit. I love you.”
“That’s no bullshit.”
“If I found out you were screwing around on me, could I off you?” He inclined his head. “I believe I’ve already been informed you’d be doing the rhumba—after appropriate lessons—on my cold, dead body.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” It cheered her up. “Just not sure pink Jolene has the stones for that.”
“Jimmy Jay was in violation of the . . . which commandment is it that deals with adultery?”
“How the hell would I know, especially since I wouldn’t wait for you to face your eternal punishment, should you be in said violation, before I rhumba’d my ass off.”
“Such is true love.”
“Bet your excellent ass. I got the vibe he might’ve been screwing around, but maybe I’m just a cynical so-and-so.”
Pleased with her, Roarke tapped a finger over the dent in her chin. “You are, but you’re my cynical so-and-so.”
“Awww. Money’s another good one. What kind of—round figure—lucrative are we talking?”
“If we put church assets, personal assets, assets neatly tipped into his children’s and grandchildren’s names, his wife’s personal assets into the same hat, upward of six billion.”
“That’s pretty fucking round. I’ll get back to you.”
She hunted down Clyde, found him in a small backstage canteen, sitting over what smelled like a miserable cup of coffee. He smiled weakly.
“Coffee here’s as bad as cop coffee ever was.”
“I’ll take your word.” She sat and looked him in the eye. “Did Jimmy Jay have a sidepiece?”
He puffed out his cheeks. “I never saw him, not once in the eight years I’ve been with him, behave inappropriately with another woman.”
“That’s not an answer, Clyde.”