Genuine Lies

his memory of Paul, tipping back a long-neck beer, grinning.
    “She’s stubborn, likes to be in control. Probably comes from having to raise a kid on her own. Got a great laugh—but she doesn’t laugh enough. Irritates the hell out of me. I think I’m crazy about her.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Bleary with drink, Frank had grinned back. “But I want to hear about her body. Start with her legs.”
    “Amazing. Absolutely amazing.”
    Frank had already noted Paul had been right about those legs. But right now it looked as if Julia Summers’s legs weren’t going to hold her up for long. “Would you sit down, Miss Summers? If you don’t have any objection, Paul can stay while we talk.”
    “No, I … please.” She gripped Paul’s hand.
    “I’m not going anywhere.” He took the seat beside her.
    “Okay, now we’re going to start right at the beginning. Do you want some more water?”
    She shook her head. More than anything, she wanted to get this over with.
    “What time did you get home?”
    “I don’t know.” She took a long, steadying breath. “Joe. Joe at the gate might remember. I’d had an appointment this morning with Gloria DuBarry. After, I drove around …”
    “You called me about noon,” Paul prompted her. “From the BHH.”
    “Yes, I called you, then I drove around some more.” “Do you drive around like that often?” Frank asked. “I had things on my mind.”
    Frank watched the look pass between her and Paul, and waited.
    “I got here just when Gloria was leaving, and—”
    “Miss DuBarry was here?” Frank interrupted.
    “Yes, I guess she was here to … to see Eve. She was pulling out of the gate as I drove up. I talked to Joe for a few minutes, then I parked my car in front of the house. I didn’t want to go in yet. I …” She dropped her hands into her lap, gripped them together. Saying nothing, Paul covered them with his own. “I walked to the gardens and sat on a bench. I don’t know how long. Then I went to the house.”
    “Which way did you go in?”
    “The front. I unlocked the front door.” When her voice broke, she pressed her hand to her mouth. “I was going to get some wine, going to marinate some chicken for dinner. And then I saw her.”
    “Go on.”
    “She was lying on the rug. And the blood was … I think I went to her, tried to wake her up. But she …”
    “Your call to 911 came in at one twenty-two.”
    Julia shuddered once, then settled. “I called 911, then I called Paul.”
    “What did you do then?”
    She looked away, away from him, away from the house. There were butterflies floating above the columbine. “I sat with her until they came.”
    “Miss Summers, do you know why Miss Benedict would have been in the guest house?”
    “Waiting for me. I—we were working on the book.”
    “Her biography,” Frank said with a nod. “During the course of time you’ve been working with her, did Miss Benedict indicate to you that someone might wish her harm?”
    “There were a lot of people who were unhappy about the book. Eve knew things.” She stared down at her hands, then into his eyes. “I have tapes, Lieutenant, tapes of my interviews with Eve.”
    “I’d appreciate it if you’d let me have them.”
    “They’re inside.” In a quick, convulsive movement her fingers tightened on Paul’s. “There’s more.”
    She told him about the notes, about the break-in, the theft, the plane. As she talked, Frank took short, scattered notes and kept his eyes on her face. This was a lady, he thought, about to snap and determined not to.
    “Why wasn’t the break-in reported?”
    “Eve wanted to handle it herself. Later, she told me that it had been Drake—her nephew Drake Morrison—and that she’d dealt with him.”
    Frank jotted down the initials D.M., circled them. “I’ll need the notes.”
    “I have them—with the tapes—in the safe.”
    His brow lifted slightly, his own sign of interest. “I know this is tough on you, Miss Summers, and there isn’t a hell of a lot I can do to make it easier.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of the uniforms come to the kitchen door and signal. “After you’ve had a chance to settle a bit, I’ll need youto come down, give a formal statement. I’d also like to take your prints.”
    “Christ, Frank.”
    He shot Paul a look. “It’s standard. We need to match any of the prints we come up with on the scene. Pretty obvious yours’ll be there, Miss Summers. Eliminating them will