In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

considerable. But we have considerable already."
    "What about business associates? Competitors?"
    "I don't know anyone who'd wish Walt harm. As for business, killing him won't effect WOF. The company's well-established, well-organized, with both our children taking on more and more of the administration. Killing him makes no sense."
    It had made sense to Julianna, Eve mused. The woman did nothing unless it made sense. "Since you've maintained a good relationship, why didn't you attend his party?"
    "It just seemed awkward. He urged me to come, though not very hard. It was supposed to be a surprise, but of course he knew about it weeks ago. He was very excited. He always was like a little boy when it came to parties."
    Eve reached into her bag, drew out Julianna Dunne's two photographs. "Do you know this woman?"
    Shelly took both, held them side-by-side. "She's very pretty, in both looks. But, no, I've never seen her before. Who is she?"
    "What were you doing the night of your husband's party?"
    She drew a small breath, as if she'd known this was a blow she'd have to face. "I don't really have what you'd call an alibi as I was alone. I did work out in the garden until almost sunset, and one of the neighbors might have seen me. I stayed home that night. Friends had asked me to dinner at the club, The Westchester Country Club, but I didn't feel like going out. You might know them. Jack and Anna Whitney. He's a police commander in the city."
    Eve felt her stomach sink. "Yes. I know the commander and his wife."
    "Anna's been trying to fix me up since the divorce. She just can't understand how I can be happy without a man."
    "And are you? Did you wonder that if your husband's relationship with his current wife failed, as you felt it would, he'd come back to you?"
    "Yes. I thought of that, considered that. And the fact is I don't think he would have come back."
    A butterfly, creamy white, flitted across the porch and fluttered down to flirt with the potted flowers. Watching it, Shelly sighed.
    "And I know I wouldn't have had him if he did," she added. "I loved him, Lieutenant, and he'll always be a vital part of my life. Even now that's he's gone. This is a man I lived with, slept with, had and raised children with. We share a grandson we both adore. Memories no one else has, and those are precious. But we weren't in love with each other anymore. And I've come to like the life I'm making on my own. I enjoy the challenge, and the independence of it. And while that baffles Anna and some of my other friends, I'm not ready to give that independence up. I don't know that I ever will be. Walter was a good man, a very, very good man. But he wasn't my man anymore."
    She handed the photographs back to Eve. "You didn't tell me who she was."
    She would hear it, Eve thought, either through the media or her connection with Anna Whitney. "She's the woman who gave Walter Pettibone poisoned champagne. And our prime suspect."
    ...
    "I liked her," Peabody said as they drove back to the city.
    "So did I."
    "I can't see her hiring a hit. She's too direct, and I don't know, sensible. And if the motive was payback for the divorce, why not target Bambi, too? Why should the replacement get to play grieving widow and roll around in an inheritance?"
    Since Eve had come to the same conclusions herself, she nodded. "I'll see if Whitney can give me any different angle on the divorce and her attitude toward Pettibone. But at this point we bump her down the list."
    "What's the next step?"
    "If Julianna was a hired hitter, she'd be costly. We'll start on financials, see if anybody spent some serious money recently."
    ...
    Julianna wasn't concerned about money. Her husbands, God rest them, had been very generous with the commodity. Long before she'd killed them, she'd opened secure, numbered accounts under various names in several discreet financial institutions.
    She'd invested well, and even during her hideous time in prison, her money had made money for her.
    She could have lived a long and indulgent life anywhere in the world or its satellites. But that life would never have been complete unless she could take the lives of others.
    She really enjoyed killing. It was such interesting work.
    The one benefit of incarceration had been the time, endless time, for her to consider how to continue that work once she was free again.
    She didn't hate men. She abhorred them. Their minds, their bodies, their sweaty, groping hands. Most of all, she detested their