“Was Cecil fixing breakfast when you got in—earlier than he expected? Or had he finished? Were there signs he hadn’t been alone? Cheating on you when you were away. He was a very bad boy.”
“He’s dead. You shouldn’t talk about him that way.”
“What time did you get home again?”
“I said—I think—about eleven.”
“That’s odd, Mr. Havertoe,” Peabody said. “Because your shuttle landed at eight-forty-five.”
“I—I had some errands—”
“And the driver from Delux dropped you off at the door here at nine-ten.”
“I … took a walk.”
“With your luggage?” Eve angled her head. “No, you didn’t. You came in at nine-ten, and you and Cecil got into it while you—one of you or both—made coffee, fixed breakfast. You wanted to know who he’d been with while you were in Chicago. You wanted him to stop cheating on you. You argued, and you picked up the cast-iron skillet, swung out. You were so mad. All you’ve done for him and he can’t be faithful. Who could blame you for losing your temper. You didn’t mean to kill him, did you, Paul? You just lashed out—hurt and angry.”
“I didn’t. You have the time wrong. That’s all.”
“No, you got it wrong. You got home early. Did you think you might catch him with someone?”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that. I wanted to surprise him. I wanted things to be the way they were. I fixed him his favorite brunch! Mandarin orange juice mimosas and hazelnut coffee, eggs Benedict with raspberry French toast.”
“You went to a lot of trouble.”
“Everything made by hand, and I set the table with his favorite china.”
“And he didn’t appreciate it. All the time and effort you went to, just to do something special for him, and he didn’t appreciate it.”
“I … then I went for a walk. I went for a walk, and when I came back he was dead.”
“No, Paul. You argued, you hit him. It was like a reflex. You were so mad, so hurt, you just grabbed the skillet and swung out. And then it was too late. So you cleaned up the kitchen, put everything away.” While he lay there, dead on the floor, Eve thought. “You scrubbed the cast-iron skillet.” With his blood staining the bottom. “You made everything neat and tidy again, just the way he liked it.”
“I didn’t mean to do it! It was an accident.”
“Okay.”
“He said he wanted a divorce. I did everything for him. I took care of him. He said I was smothering him, and he was tired of me looking through his things, going through his schedule and calling him all the time. He was tired of it. Of me. I made him brunch, and he wanted a divorce.”
“Harsh,” Eve commented.
WITH HAVERTOE CHARGED AND BOOKED, THE reports filed, the case closed, Eve couldn’t come up with a single excuse to ditch the dinner with the Hollywood types.
And she tried.
She poked her fingers in the active cases of her detectives, hoping to hook an angle that required her immediate and personal attention. When that failed she considered pulling out a cold case at random. But nobody would buy that as an emergency, especially with Peabody breathing down her neck.
“What are you wearing tonight?” Peabody demanded.
“I don’t know. Something to cover nakedness.”
“Long or short?”
“Long or short what?”
“The outfit. Short, showing lots of leg. You’ve got all that leg so you can. Or long and sleek because you’re skinny and can pull that off.”
Eve dawdled over a report Detective Baxter had turned in. Reading it three times was just being thorough. “You’re spending too much time thinking about my body.”