Genuine Lies

Soloman?”
    “Drake came by, but Eve wouldn’t see him. I know he saw Mr. Greenburg leave.”
    “Did she see anyone that day?”
    “Yes, Miss DuBarry was by. She left just before one o’clock.”
    “Did Miss Benedict make plans to see anyone else?”
    “I …” She pressed her lips together. “I know that she phoned the guest house.”
    “The guest house where Julia Summers was living?”
    “Yes. She told me to keep her afternoon clear. That was right after Miss DuBarry left. Then she went into her bedroom to call the guest house.”
    “I didn’t talk to her,” Julia whispered urgently to Lincoln. “I never talked to her after that night on the terrace.”
    He only patted her hand.
    “After the phone call?”
    “She seemed upset. I don’t know whether she reached Julia or not, but she was only in her room for a minute or two. When she came out, she told me she was going down to talk to Julia. She said …” Her troubled eyes darted to Julia, then back to the prosecutor. “She said they were going to have it out.”
    “And what time was this?”
    “It was just one o’clock, perhaps a minute or two past.” “How can you be sure?”
    “Eve had given me several letters to type. As she was leaving, I went into my office to start them, and I looked at my desk clock.”
    Julia stopped listening for a while. If her body couldn’t get up and walk away, at least her mind could. She imagined herself back in Connecticut. She’d plant flowers. She would spend a week planting them if she wanted. She’d get Brandon a dog. That was something she’d been thinking about for quite a while, but she’d put off going to the pound to choose one, afraid she’d want to take them all.
    And a porch swing. She wanted a porch swing. She couldwork all day, then in the evenings, when things were quiet, she could sit and swing and watch night fall.
    “The state calls Paul Winthrop to the stand.”
    She must have made some sound. Lincoln put a hand on hers under the table and squeezed. Not in comfort, but in warning.
    Paul answered the opening questions briefly, weighing his words, his eyes on Julia’s.
    “Would you tell the court the nature of your relationship with Miss Summers?”
    “I’m in love with Miss Summers.” The faintest of smiles touched his lips. “Completely in love with Miss Summers.”
    “And you also had a close personal relationship with Miss Benedict.”
    “Yes, I did.”
    “Didn’t you find it difficult to juggle relationships with two women, women who were working closely together. Women who were in actuality mother and daughter.”
    “Your honor!” Lincoln, the picture of righteous indignation, sprang to his feet.
    “Oh, I’d like to answer that one.” Paul’s quiet voice cut through the uproar of the courtroom. His gaze had veered from Julia to pin the D.A. “I didn’t find it difficult at all. Eve was the only mother I’d ever known. Julia is the only woman I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”
    Williamson folded his hands at his waist, tapped his index fingers together. “Then you had no problem. I wonder if two dynamic women would have found it so easy to share one man.”
    Heat flashed in those pale blue eyes, but his voice was cool and disdainful. “Your implication is not only idiotic, it’s revolting.”
    But he need not have spoken. Lincoln was already objecting over the courtroom buzz.
    “Withdrawn,” Williamson said easily. “Mr. Winthrop, were you present during the argument between the deceased and Miss Summers?”
    “No.”
    “But you were on the estate.” “I was in the guest house, watching Brandon.” “Then you were present when Miss Summers returned, directly after the scene on the terrace.” “I was.”
    “Did she describe her feelings to you?”
    “She did. Julia was upset, shocked, and confused.”
    “Upset?” Williamson repeated, rolling the word around on his tongue as if testing its taste. “Two witnesses have stated that Miss Summers left the terrace in a rage. Are you saying that in a matter of moments that rage had cooled so that she was merely upset?”
    “I’m a writer, Mr. Williamson. I choose my words carefully.
Rage
is not the term I’d use to describe Julia’s state when she returned to the guest house.
Hurt
would be closer to the mark.”
    “We won’t waste the court’s time with semantics. Did you receive a phone call from Miss Summers on the day of the murder?”
    “I did.”
    “At what time?”
    “About