Genuine Lies

to his way. “For now, tell me about Eve Benedict.”
    By the time Lincoln left it was nearly two A.M., and Paul had developed a grudging respect for his thoroughness. He might have found the attorney’s organization and neatness irritating. Lincoln always turned over a new sheet of paper for each change of topic, he ate the brownies Julia served with coffee using a fork, and not once during the long, repetitive evening did he loosen his tie.
    But Paul had also noted that Lincoln’s eyes had sharpened when told about the notes, and that a look of pure pleasure had come into them when Delrickio’s connection had been explained.
    When he left, he didn’t look like a man who had been up for nearly twenty-four hours straight, and had bid them good night as politely as if they’d just enjoyed a friendly dinner party.
    “I suppose it’s none of my business.” Paul shut the door and turned back to Julia. She braced, resenting the fact that she would have to explain herself again, remember again. “But I just have to know.” He walked over to her, brushed the hair from her face. “Did he hang up his clothes and fold his socks before you made love?”
    The giggle surprised her, the comfort she found when she rested her head on his shoulder didn’t. “Actually, he folded his clothes and rolled his socks.”
    “Jules, I have to tell you, your taste has improved.” A quick, nipping kiss, and he picked her up to carry her towardthe stairs. “And after you’ve had about twelve hours sleep, I’ll prove it to you.”
    “Maybe you could prove it to me now, and I’ll sleep later.”
    “A much better idea.”
    Even putting Brandon on the plane, knowing he was tucked away thousands of miles from the eye of the storm, didn’t console her. She wanted her child back. She wanted her life back.
    She met with Lincoln every day, sat in the suite he’d booked and drank black coffee until she was certain she could feel it burning a hole in the center of her gut. She talked to the detective he’d hired—another intrusion in her life, another person to pry apart the tenuous threads on what had been her privacy.
    It was all so ordered—the files, the lawbooks, the busy ringing of the phones. The unbroken efficiency of it began to lull her. Until she saw a headline, heard a broadcast. Then she was tossed back into the fear of it being her name, her face, her life under the public microscope. And her fate in the hands of justice, whose blindness was not always a boon for the innocent.
    Paul kept her from going over that thin edge. She didn’t want to lean. Hadn’t she promised herself that she would never depend on anyone for her happiness, for her security, for her peace of mind? Yet, just the fact that he was there gave her the illusion of all three. And because she was terrified it was an illusion, she backed away, quietly slipping inches of distance between them until there was a foot, a foot until there was a yard.
    He was exhausted himself, discouraged by the fact that his connections at the precinct weren’t bringing him any closer to the truth. Frank had let him come along when he’d questioned Lyle again, but the former chauffeur had refused to budge on his story to see, hear, and speak no evil.
    The fact that Drake’s finances were in a mess didn’timplicate him in Eve’s death. More, the fact that she had given him a large amount only weeks before she was killed worked in his favor. Why would he kill the golden goose?
    Paul’s single interview with Gloria had only made things worse. With tears and trembling, she admitted to arguing with Eve on the day of the murder. Guilt poured out along with the words. She had said terrible things, then had left in a rage, speeding home to confess the entire business to her shocked husband.
    At almost the same moment Julia had discovered Eve’s body, Gloria had been weeping in her husband’s arms, and begging for forgiveness.
    Since Marcus Grant, the housekeeper, and the curious poolman had all heard the sobbing Gloria at one fifteen, and the drive from estate to estate couldn’t be managed in under ten minutes, it was impossible to tie her to the murder.
    Paul still felt the book was the key. When Julia was out of the house he would listen to the tapes over and over again, trying to find the one phrase, the one name that would open the door.
    When she came home, wired from another session of rehearsing her testimony with Lincoln, she heard Eve’s voice.
    “He