Genuine Lies

you’re a man of your word. If you promise me you’ll pay me what the information is worth, I’ll stand by that.”
    Stand or die, Delrickio thought with a weary sigh. “You have it.”
    Enjoying the drama of the moment, Lyle let silence hang. “Eve Benedict is Julia Summers’s natural mother.”
    Delrickio’s eyes narrowed, darkened. Angry color crept from his neck to cover his face. Each word he spoke was like an ice pick striking bone. “Do you think you can come into my house and tell me this lie, then walk out alive?”
    “Mr. Delrickio—” Lyle’s saliva dried to dust when he saw the small, lethal .22 in Delrickio’s hand. “Don’t. Christ, don’t.” He scrambled like a crab toward the back of the chair.
    “Tell me that again.”
    “I swear it.” Tears of terror leaked from his eyes. “They were on the terrace, and I was hiding in the garden, so I could find out anything you might want to know. Just like we agreed. And—and Eve, she started telling this story about Gloria DuBarry having an affair with that Torrent guy.”
    “Gloria DuBarry had an affair with Michael Torrent?Your fantasies grow.” His finger caressed the trigger of the gun.
    Terror made the .22 look like a cannon. “Eve said it. Jesus, why would I make it up?”
    “You have one minute to tell me exactly what she said.” Calmly, Delrickio glanced at the stately grandfather clock in the corner. “Begin.”
    Fumbling, stammering, Lyle blurted out everything he could remember, his wild eyes never leaving the barrel of the .22. As the story poured out, Delrickio’s look became less intense and more speculative.
    “So, Miss DuBarry aborted Torrent’s baby.” It was an interesting, potentially useful face. Marcus Grant had a very successful business, and would probably object to having his wife’s indiscretion come to light. Delrickio filed it away.
    “How do you turn this information into Miss Summers being Eve’s daughter.”
    “Eve told her, she told her about a year or so later she got knocked up by Victor Flannigan.” Lyle’s voice rose an octave effortlessly, like an opera singer practicing scales. “She was going to have an abortion, too, but changed her mind and had the kid. She gave it up for adoption. She told the Summers woman. Jesus, I swear she told her she was her mother. She even said she had papers, lawyer’s stuff, to prove it.” He was too terrified to move, even to wipe his running nose. “Summers went nuts, started screaming and throwing things. The other two—Travers and Soloman—came running out. That’s when I went back to the garage, to watch. I could still hear her yelling, and Eve crying. Afterward Summers ran back to the guest house. I knew you’d want to know. I ain’t lying, I swear it.”
    No, Delrickio thought, he wasn’t clever enough to have made it all up, the clinic in France, the private hospital in Switzerland. He replaced the gun, ignoring the fact that Lyle covered his face with his hands and sobbed.
    Eve had a child, he thought. A child she would undoubtedly want to protect.
    Smiling to himself, he leaned back in his chair. Lyle was a revolting swine. But swine had their uses.
    Julia had never seen so much chintz in one place. Obviously Gloria had told the decorator to make her office cozy and old-fashioned. She’d gotten it. In spades. Frilly pink curtains with layers and more layers of flounce. Chairs so deep and cushy a small child could sink into them and never be seen again. Hooked rugs scattered over hardwood. Copper and brass pots overflowing with cute balls of yarn or dried flowers. Tiny tables crowded with miniature statuary. A dusting nightmare.
    Everything was packed in and angled together so that the visitor was forced to pick through a country-motif obstacle course, shifting this way and that to avoid bumping a hip or stubbing a toe.
    Then there were the cats. Three of them slept in a slant of sunlight, tangled around and over each other into one obscene ball of glossy white fur.
    Gloria was seated at a small, curvy desk more suited to milady’s boudoir than a working office. She wore a pale pink dress with full sleeves and a Quaker collar. In it she looked the picture of purity, good health, and goodwill. But nerves recognized nerves. Julia saw the stress in the bitten-down nails. Her own were a ragged mess after the hour she’d spent this morning agonizing over keeping this appointment or canceling.
    “Miss Summers.” With a warm, welcoming