“I’m good.”
“I’ll leave you to talk.”
“Sissy, sit down and have a glass of wine with me since Lieutenant Dallas can’t. Is it all right?” Alva asked Eve. “I’ve already told Sissy the whole story.”
“It’s fine,” Eve said. “I’m just here to follow up. Maybe you can tell me a little more about your relationship with Bradley Whitestone.”
“We met at a fund-raiser a few weeks ago. He’s courting me.” She smiled as she poured wine in two glasses. “My portfolio anyway. I don’t mind. He has good, fresh ideas, an appealing approach.”
“So it’s not a personal relationship.”
“Not yet determined. I like him, but I’m careful. I wasn’t always, was I?” She patted Sissy’s hand, got a quiet smile.
“You were young, perhaps a bit headstrong.”
“A bit?” Alva tossed back her head on a laugh. “Sissy’s discreet. I went through a wild stage, not that long ago in the scheme of things. Clubs, clubs, more clubs, parties, men. Even a couple of women just to say I had. Throwing money away because it was there. Then I was wild with the wrong man. He hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“To keep the story short, he beat me unconscious, raped me, then beat me again. He stole from me, tossed me out of my own apartment—naked. If one of the neighbors hadn’t heard me, gotten me inside, called the police, I don’t know what might have happened.”
“Did they get him?”
“They did. It was an ugly trial. I was on trial as much as he was. My family, which includes Sissy, stood by me. Even after everything I’d said and done.”
“I don’t remember hearing about this.”
“It was in London. I’d moved there, more or less. It was about four years ago. Sissy moved in with me, took care of me. I went to counseling, and I came home. I came home a different person, and a better one than when I left.”
“You came home the person you always were,” Sissy corrected. “It just took you some time to find her.”
“I didn’t want to lose that person again, so I asked Sissy to come back with me, stay with me. She’s my compass. I bought this place, and I’m trying to deserve the second chance. Which concludes the condensed version of my life story.”
“It’s a nice place. It feels . . . content.”
“Thanks, that’s exactly what we want.”
“I just came from one that didn’t feel so content. Do you know Candida Mobsley?”
“Yes, I do.” With another quick look at Sissy who only sighed, Alva sipped more wine. “She was one of the women I spent time with so I could say I did. We cut quite a foolish swath for a few months back in the bad old days. We don’t, let’s say, have the same lifestyle anymore, but I see her now and again at an event or a party. She hasn’t changed much. Is she . . .” As surprise flickered across her face, Alva lowered her glass. “Candida’s not involved in this?”
“I don’t think so, no.”
“She’s wild, and a little crazy, and frankly not very bright.”
“Yeah, I got all that.”
“She’s the person she wants to be,” Sissy added, then immediately straightened. “I’m sorry. That was harsh and unnecessary.”
“And true,” Alva added. “If she’s using, which is a lot, she might pick a fight. Slap someone, throw things—actually more a tantrum than a fight. But I can’t see her doing anything like this, not what was done to that woman.”
“She has enough money, and connections, to hire someone to do it for her,” Eve pointed out.
“No, not even that. If she had a problem with someone, she’d have her tantrum, throw money around, threaten, throw more money. But murder?”
Alva picked up her wine again, settled back. “Honestly, I don’t think it would occur to her, or that she has it in her. If for some reason she did, she—not being very bright—would brag about it.”
“Interesting,” Eve commented. “That was exactly my take.”