She looked over at Eve again. “You’re thinking that I should have gone again myself. It was my place to go.”
“Ms. Barrister—”
But Elizabeth shook her head. “You’re right, of course. But she refused to confide in me. I thought I should respect her privacy, as I always had. I was never one of those mothers who peeked into her daughter’s diary.”
“Diary?” Eve’s antenna vibrated. “Did she keep one?”
“She always kept a diary, even as a child. She changed the password in it regularly.”
“And as an adult?”
“Yes. She’d refer to it now and again—joke about the secrets she had and the people she knew who would be appalled at what she’d written about them.”
There’d been no personal diary in the inventory, Eve remembered. Such things could be as small as a woman’s thumb. If the sweepers missed it the first time . . .
“Do you have any of them?”
“No.” Abruptly alert, Elizabeth looked up. “She kept them in a deposit box, I think. She kept them all.”
“Did she use a bank here in Virginia?”
“Not that I’m aware of. I’ll check and see what I can find out for you. I can go through the things she left here.”
“I’d appreciate that. If you think of anything—anything at all—a name, a comment, no matter how casual, please contact me.”
“I will. She never spoke of friends, lieutenant. I worried about that, even as I used it to hope that the lack of them would draw her back home. Out of the life she’d chosen. I even used one of my own, my own friends, thinking he would be more persuasive than I.”
“Who was that?”
“Roarke.” Elizabeth teared up again, fought them back. “Only days before she was murdered, I called him. We’ve known each other for years. I asked him if he would arrange for her to be invited to a certain party I knew he’d be attending. If he’d seek her out. He was reluctant. Roarke isn’t one to meddle in family business. But I used our friendship. If he would just find a way to befriend her, to show her that an attractive woman doesn’t have to use her looks to feel worthwhile. He did that for me, and for my husband.”
“You asked him to develop a relationship with her?” Eve said carefully.
“I asked him to be her friend,” Elizabeth corrected. “To be there for her. I asked him because there’s no one I trust more. She’d cut herself off from all of us, and I needed someone I could trust. He would never hurt her, you see. He would never hurt anyone I loved.”
“Because he loves you?”
“Cares.” Richard DeBlass spoke from the doorway. “Roarke cares very much for Beth and for me, and a few select others. But loves? I’m not sure he’d let himself risk quite that unstable an emotion.”
“Richard.” Elizabeth’s control wobbled as she got to her feet. “I wasn’t expecting you quite yet.”
“We finished early.” He came to her, closed his hands over hers. “You should have called me, Beth.”
“I didn’t—” She broke off, looked at him helplessly. “I’d hoped to handle it alone.”
“You don’t have to handle anything alone.” He kept his hand closed over his wife’s as he turned to Eve. “You’d be Lieutenant Dallas?”
“Yes, Mr. DeBlass. I had a few questions and hoped it would be easier if I asked them in person.”
“My wife and I are willing to cooperate in any way we can.” He remained standing, a position Eve judged as one of power and of distance.
There was none of Elizabeth’s nerves or fragility in the man who stood beside her. He was taking charge, Eve decided, protecting his wife and guarding his own emotions with equal care.
“You were asking about Roarke,” he continued. “May I ask why?”
“I told the lieutenant that I’d asked Roarke to see Sharon. To try to . . .”
“Oh, Beth.” In a gesture that was both weary and resigned, he shook his head. “What could he do? Why would you bring him into it?”