I is for Innocent (Kinsey Millhone 9)

Her expression shifted. Being brittle herself, she was easily injured. "I can certainly do that if you think I'm in the way."

"Now, now, now. You stay right where you are," he said. "I'm sure she's here to talk to both of us."

"I suppose we could have some sherry," she said hesitantly.

He waved her into the chair. "I'll do that. You just have a seat."

"Please don't go to any trouble. I have to be somewhere else shortly." This was not entirely true, but I wasn't sure how much more I could endure. I took my notebook out of my handbag and leafed through the pages. "Let me ask a couple of questions and then I can get out of here. I don't want to take any more of your time than I have to."

Peter sank into a chair. "Exactly what is it you're doing?"

Yolanda adjusted one of the rings she wore, making sure the square-cut diamond was properly centered on her finger. "You'll have to pardon Peter. I only explained it to him twice."

"This is a follow-up to Morley Shine's investigation," I said, ignoring her. "Frankly, we're hoping to strengthen the plaintiff's case. Did you have contact with David or Isabelle on the day she died?"

He said, "I don't remember anything specific, but it seems unlikely."

"Well, of course it's unlikely. You were in the hospital, don't you remember? Your heart attack was December fifteenth that year. You were at St. Terry's until January second. I was afraid to tell you about Isabelle because I didn't want you upset."

His look was blank. "I suppose that's right. I'd forgotten that it all happened in that same period," he said to her. And then to me, "They'd pulled out of the firm by then and set up offices of their own."

"Taking any client they could," she inserted with acid.

"Was there bad blood about that?"

She fiddled primly with her ring. "Not to hear him tell it, but of course there was."

"Now, Yolanda, that's not true. I wished her all the best."

"Peter hates to make a fuss. He won't confront anyone, least of all someone like her. After all he'd done."

"As I understand it, Isabelle came up with the idea for tiny houses while she was working for you."

"That's right."

"What about… what's it called… proprietary rights? Wouldn't the idea actually belong to you?"

Peter started to answer, but Yolanda broke in. "Of course. He never even asked her to sign the form. The woman walked out with everything. He wouldn't even press the point, though I begged him to. In effect, Isabelle stole millions from him-literally millions…"

I formed my next question with care. I could already tell Peter was much too circumspect to be of any use in my investigation. Yolanda, the spite queen, was going to serve me well if I could set her up right. "You must have been furious."

"And why wouldn't I be? She was a self-indulgent, degenerate-" She bit off the sentence.

"Go on," I said.

"Yolanda," Peter said with a warning look.

She amended her stance. "I wouldn't want to speak ill."

"It won't hurt her at this point. I understand she was excessive-"

"Excessive doesn't begin to cover it. She was downright dishonest!"

Peter leaned toward his wife. "I don't think we should present a totally biased view. You may not have been fond of her, but she was talented."

"Yes, she was," Yolanda said, coloring. "And I suppose-to be fair about it-her problems were not all her fault. Sometimes I almost felt sorry for her. She was neurotic and high-strung. The woman had everything but happiness. David latched onto her like a parasite and he sucked her dry."

I waited for more, but she seemed to have run down. I looked at Peter. "Is that your analysis?"

"It's not my place to judge."

"I'm not asking you to judge her. I'd like your point of view. It might help me understand the situation."

He thought about that one briefly and apparently decided it made sense. "She was unfortunate. I don't know what else to say."

"How long did she work for you?"

"A little over four years. An informal apprenticeship."

"Simone told me she didn't actually have an architectural degree," I said.

"That's correct. Isabelle had no formal design training. She had wonderful ideas. She bubbled over with enthusiasm. It was almost as if the same reservoir fed both her creativity and her destruction."