She remained so still that even her bracelets didn’t jangle. “From a moral and religious standpoint, abortion was out of the question. Nor would it ever have occurred to him to do other than what was right. So he married the girl. As strange as it may seem, Hammond, that’s when I loved him most. I had so wanted to have his children.”
He waited until he was certain that she was finished, until she moved again, and that was to raise her glass to her lips. “Have you kept track of him?”
“Yes.”
“Is he still married?”
“No.”
“Do you ever see him?”
She turned away from the window and looked at him. “Yesterday. At Lute’s funeral. He was seated near the back with Steffi Mundell. He’s still not very well liked.”
When Hammond pulled all the clues together, his jaw dropped open. Soundlessly his lips formed the name. “Rory Smilow?”
She gave a wry laugh. “There’s no accounting for taste, is there?”
Hammond pushed his hand up through his hair. “No wonder he hated Lute so much. First for his sister. Then you.”
“Well, actually it was the other way around. Lute’s marriage to Margaret didn’t come until years later. I remember when Rory moved to Charleston to accept the job with the police department. I read about it in the newspaper. I wanted to contact him then, but my pride wouldn’t let me.
“The woman he married had died giving birth to their stillborn baby.” She paused to reflect on the irony of that. “His parents were dead, so responsibility for Margaret had fallen on him. He moved her here with him. She got a clerical job in the courthouse. County records, plats, things like that. That’s where she met Lute. It wouldn’t surprise me if the romance developed after she did him a favor, like fudging a property line or something.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me, either,” Hammond remarked. “I’ve heard the marriage was a nightmare.”
“Margaret was emotionally fragile. She was certainly no match for a bastard like Lute.” She finished her drink. “On occasion I had got good and tanked, swallowed my pride, and accidentally-on-purpose put myself in Rory’s path. He always looked right through me, as though we’d never known one another. That hurt, Hammond. It also pissed me off.
“So after Margaret’s suicide, I went after Lute and didn’t stop chasing him until he married me. Rory had broken my heart. So I tried to break his by marrying the man he most despised.” She added ruefully, “Revenge has a way of kicking the avenger in the ass, doesn’t it?”
“I’m sorry, Davee.”
“Ah, well, don’t be,” she said with a breeziness that Hammond knew was false. “I’ve still got my looks. This,” she said, holding up her highball glass, “didn’t destroy Mama’s beauty. She’s as gorgeous as ever, so I’m counting on good genes to ward off the ill effects of demon alcohol. I’ve got lots of money. As soon as Lute’s will is probated, I’ll have lots more. Speaking of which…”
She walked to an antique desk and opened the slender lap drawer. “This fucking stroll down memory lane almost made me forget. I found this while going through some papers in Lute’s desk. It’s in his handwriting.” She handed him a pale green Post-It note. “That’s last Saturday’s date, isn’t it?”
Hammond’s vision blurred around the notation.
“Lute wrote down your name and a five o’clock time. Looks to me like an appointment. Which I’m sure you would rather no one knew about.”
He looked across at her. “It’s not what you think.”
She laughed. “Hammond, honey, I’d sooner believe in cellulite-reducing creams than I would believe you capable of committing murder. I don’t know what it signifies and don’t want to know. I just thought you should have it.”
He stared at the second notation on the small square of paper. “He wrote down another time. Six o’clock. No name. Any ideas?”
“None. There’s nothing on his official day planner about any appointments on Saturday, with you or anyone else.”
Obviously Lute had intended to meet with someone else that afternoon, following his appointment with him. Who? he wondered. Thoughtfully, he folded the small piece of paper and put it in his pocket. “Rightfully, you should have given this to Smilow.”
“When have you ever known me to do the right thing?” Her mischievous smile turned wistful. “I learned the hard way that it’s a waste of time to try and hurt Rory. I don’t believe he can be hurt.” Then her smile disappeared altogether. “But I don’t feel compelled to do him any favors, either.”
Chapter 25
“He was here with me last night.” Ellen Rogers had to shout to make herself heard above the music. “We sat at that table for hours and ordered several rounds of drinks. You must remember.”
The bartender, a hunky young man with a sleek ponytail and a silver hoop in his eyebrow, looked her over in a way that said she was remarkably forgettable. “I see lots of people. Night after night. I don’t remember all their faces. They sorta run together in my head, you know?”
A leggy blonde in a tight black dress undulated onto the neighboring barstool. The bartender reached across Ellen to light the blonde’s cigarette. “What are you having?”