The Alibi

“Can anyone vouch for that?”

She moved to an end table and depressed a single button on a desk telephone. The housekeeper’s voice came through the speaker. “Yes, Miss Davee?”

“Sarah, will you come in here, please? Thank you.”

The three waited in silence. Fixing the prosecutor with a cool, contemptuous gaze, Davee fiddled with the single strand of perfectly matched pearls that she wore around her neck. They had been a coming-out gift from her father, whom she both loved and hated. Her therapist had suggested that they were a symbol of her mistrust of people, due to her father’s unfaithfulness to his wife and daughters. Davee didn’t know if that was true or if she just liked the pearls. Whatever the case, she wore them with everything, including the short shorts and oversize white cotton shirt she had on this evening.

Davee had inherited her live-in housekeeper from her mother. Sarah had been working for the family before Clancy was born and had seen them through all their tribulations. When she came into the room, she shot Smilow and Steffi Mundell a hostile glance.

Davee formally introduced her. “Ms. Sarah Birch, this is Detective Smilow and a person from the County Solicitor’s Office. They came to tell me that Mr. Pettijohn was found murdered this afternoon.”

Sarah’s reaction was no more visible than Davee’s had been.

Davee continued, “I told them that I was

here in the house between five and six o’clock and that you would back me up. Isn’t that right?”

Steffi Mundell nearly blew a gasket. “You can’t—”

“Steffi.”

“But she’s just compromised the interrogation,” she shouted at Smilow.

Davee looked at him innocently. “I thought you said I wasn’t being interrogated, Rory.”

His eyes were frosty, but he turned to the housekeeper and said politely, “Ms. Birch, to your knowledge was Mrs. Pettijohn at home at that time?”

“Yes, sir. She’s been in her room resting nearly all day.”

“Oh, brother,” Steffi muttered beneath her breath.

Ignoring her, Smilow thanked the housekeeper. Sarah Birch moved to Davee and enveloped her hands between her own. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Sarah.”

“You all right, baby?”

“I’m fine.”

“Anything I can get you?”

“Not now.”

“You need anything, you just let me know.”

Davee smiled up at her, and Sarah ran her hand affectionately over Davee’s tousled blond hair, then turned and left the room. Davee finished her drink, smugly eyeing Steffi over the rim of her glass. When she lowered it, she said, “Satisfied?”

Steffi was seething and didn’t deign to respond.

Crossing to the liquor cart again, Davee asked, “Where is the… where was he taken?”

“The medical examiner will perform an autopsy.”

“So funeral arrangements will have to wait—”

“Until the body is released,” Smilow said, finishing for her.

She poured herself another drink, then when she came back around asked, “How did he die?”