She’d earned her salary. Now, with her children grown, she earned her retirement stipend by putting the same dedication into nurturing her home, her husband, and her reputation as a hostess. Whenever she could, she filled the house with her grandchildren. In the evenings, she filled it with dinner parties.
Anna Whitney hated solitude.
But she was alone when Eve arrived. As always, she was perfectly groomed: her cosmetics were carefully and expertly applied, and her pale blond hair was coiffed in a swept-back style that suited her attractive face.
She wore a one-piece suit of good American cotton, and held out a hand adorned only with a wedding ring to welcome Eve.
“Lieutenant Dallas, my husband said you would come.”
“I’m sorry to intrude, Mrs. Whitney.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m a cop’s wife. Come in. I’ve made some lemonade. It’s tablet, I’m afraid. Fresh or frozen is so monstrously hard to come by. It’s a little early for lemonade, but I had a yen for it today.”
Eve let Anna chatter as they walked into the formal living area with its stiff-backed chairs and straight-edged sofa.
The lemonade was fine, and Eve said so after the first sip.
“You know the memorial service is at ten tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.”
“There are so many flowers already. We’ve made arrangements to have them distributed after . . . but that’s not why you’re here.”
“Prosecutor Towers was a good friend to you.”
“She was a very good friend to me and my husband.”
“Her children are staying with you?”
“Yes, they’re . . . they’ve gone with Marco just now to speak with the archbishop about the service.”
“They’re close to their father.”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. Whitney, why are they staying here, rather than with their father?”
“We all thought it best. The house—Marco’s house—holds so many memories. Cicely lived there when the children were young. Then there’s the media. They don’t have our address, and we wanted to keep the children from dealing with reporters. They’ve swamped poor Marco. It’ll be different tomorrow, of course.”
Her pretty hands plucked at the knee of her suit, then calmed and lay still again. “They’ll have to face it. They’re still in shock. Even Randall. Randall Slade, Mirina’s fiancé. He’d gotten very close to Cicely.”
“He’s here as well.”
“He’d never leave Mirina alone at such a time. She’s a strong young woman, Lieutenant, but even strong women need an arm to lean on now and then.”
Eve blocked out the quick image of Roarke that popped into her brain. As a result of the effort, her voice was a bit more formal than usual as she led Anna through the routine questions.
“I’ve asked myself over and over what could have possessed her to go to that neighborhood,” Anna concluded. “Cicely could be stubborn, and certainly strong willed, but she was rarely impulsive and never foolish.”
“She talked to you, confided in you.”
“We were like sisters.”
“Would she have told you if she was in trouble of some kind? If someone close to her was in trouble?”
“I would have thought so. She would have handled it herself, or tried to first.” Her eyes swam, but the tears didn’t fall. “But sooner or later she would have blown off steam with me.”
If she’d had time, Eve thought. “You can think of nothing she was concerned about before her death?”