Private Scandals

room, of Dan Gardner’s face. “It helps if we have a clear sense of things. When did you last see your wife, Mr. Gardner?”
    “Just before seven, when she was getting ready for dinner.”
    “And did she tell you she planned to meet Deanna Reynolds at CBC later that night?”
    “No.” He bit the word off. “If she had, I would have discouraged it.” He leaned forward now, enough of a showman to know which lines to punch. “He knows it, too,” he added, jerking his head toward Finn. “That’s why he wants in on the investigation, to try to head it off. It’s no secretDeanna Reynolds hated my wife, was envious and driven to destroy her. I have no doubt that she killed Angela, or had her killed.”
    “That’s an interesting theory,” Finn mused. “Is that the line you’re going to feed through your publicist?”
    Jenner cleared his throat. “Did Miss Reynolds make any threats against your wife that you’re aware of?”
    Dan’s eyes cut back to Jenner, bored in. “I told you, she attacked her physically once before. Christ knows she attacked her emotionally dozens of times over the years. She wanted Angela out of the way. Now she is. That should be clear enough. What are you doing about it?”
    “We’re looking into it,” Jenner said mildly. “Mr. Gardner, what time did you return to the hotel last night?”
    “Twelve-thirty, one o’clock.”
    “Did you meet anyone, speak with anyone who could verify that?”
    “I resent the implication, Lieutenant. My wife is dead.” He stabbed out the cigarette, breaking it in two. “And from what I’ve been told, there was only one person with her.” He stared at Finn, secure that he could say whatever he chose with impunity. “A person who had every reason to hurt her. I don’t appreciate being asked to supply an alibi.”
    “But can you?” Finn countered.
    His teeth snapped together. “You’re really reaching, aren’t you, Riley? Do you really think you can throw the police off Deanna and onto me?”
    Finn lifted a brow. “I don’t believe you answered the question.”
    “It’s possible one of the night clerks saw me come in. It’s also possible that the waitress at the club would remember serving me, and what time I left. What kind of alibi does Deanna Reynolds have?”
    Was it rage? Jenner wondered. Or was it fear that simmered in Gardner’s voice? “I’m afraid I can’t discuss that at this time. Do you have any idea how your wife might have gained access to the CBC Building and Studio B?”
    “She worked there for some time,” Dan said dryly. “I imagine she walked in. She’d know the way.”
    “There’s a security system that wasn’t in operation during the time your wife was based in the building.”
    “Then I’d imagine Deanna let her in. Then she killed her.” He shifted forward, resting one hand on the black silk covering his knee. “Imagine what this will do for her ratings, Lieutenant Jenner. He knows.” Dan jabbed a finger toward Finn. “How many Nielsen homes will tune in to watch a cold-blooded killer, Riley? She’ll murder the competition.” He laughed, rubbing a hand over and over his face. “Just like she murdered Angela.”
    “Whoever killed your wife won’t benefit from it.” Jenner glanced at Finn, pleased to see he was maintaining an outward calm. Jenner decided he liked the pattern of their work together. Not something as clichéd as good cop-bad cop. Just teamwork. “Did Miss Perkins have an appointment book, a calendar?”
    “Her secretary kept her calendar, but Angela always carried a small date book in her purse.”
    “Would you mind if we took a look in her room?”
    Dan pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Fuck, do what you want.”
    “You ought to order up some breakfast, Mr. Gardner,” Jenner said as he rose.
    “Yeah. I ought to do that.”
    Jenner took out a card and left it on the coffee table beside the ashtray of smoldering butts. “I’d appreciate it if you’d contact me if you think of anything else. We’ll be out of your way in just a few minutes.”
    The first thing Finn did in the bedroom of the suite was open the drapes. Light spilled relentlessly into the room. The bureau top was crowded with bottles and pots, the expensive toys of a vain woman who could afford the best. A champagne flute with a pale pink outline of lipstick at the rim stood in the center. A floral silk robe flowed gracefully over the arm of a chair, its hem brushing matching