River’s End

realize how lucky I was he never loved me.”
    “Did he ever hit you?”
    “Sure.” The humor came back into her eyes. “We hit each other. It was part of our sexual dance. We were violent, arrogant people.”
    “But there weren’t any reports of abuse or violence in his marriage until the summer she died. What do you think about that?”
    “I think she was able to change him, for a time. Or that he was able to change himself, for a time. Love can do that, or very great need. Noah . . .” She came back and sat. “I believe he really, really wanted to be the person he was with her. And it was working. I don’t know why it stopped working. But he was a weak man who wanted to be strong, a good actor who wanted to be a great one. Maybe, because of that, he was always doomed to fail.”
    There was a brisk knock at the door. “Ms. Loring? You’re needed on the set.”
    “Two minutes, honey.” She set her glass aside, grinned at Noah. “Work, work, work.”
    “I appreciate your squeezing some time into your schedule for me.”
    When he rose, she eyed him up and down, with a sly cat smile on her face. “I imagine I could . .. squeeze more if you’re interested . . .”
    “I’m bound to have some follow-up questions along the way.”
    She stepped closer, tapped a finger to his cheek. “You look like such a bright young man, Noah. I think you know I was talking about a more personal session.”
    “Yeah. Ah, the thing is, Lydia, you scare me.”
    She threw back her head and laughed in delight. “Oh, what a lovely thing to say. What if I promise to be gentle?”
    “I’d say you’re a liar.” Relieved by her laugh, he grinned back at her.
    “There, I said you were bright. Well . . .” She hooked her arm through his as they walked to the door. “You know how to get in touch now if you change your mind. Older women are very creative, Noah.”
    She turned, gave him a sharp, little nip on the bottom lip that had both heat and nerves swimming into his blood.
    “Now you’re really scaring me. One last thing?”
    “Mmmm.” She turned again, leaned back against the door. “Yes?”
    “Was Julie having an affair with Lucas Manning?”
    “All business, aren’t you? I find that very sexy. But since I don’t have time to attempt a worthwhile seduction, I’ll tell you that I don’t know the answer. At the time, there were two camps on that subject. The one that believed it—delighted in believing it—and the one that didn’t, and wouldn’t have if Julie and Lucas had been caught in bed naked at the Beverly Hills Hotel.”
    “Which camp were you in?”
    “Oh, the first, of course. I got off hearing anything negative or juicy about Julie in those days. But that was then, and this isn’t. Later, years later, when Lucas and I had our obligatory affair—” She lifted her brows when his eyes narrowed. “Oh, didn’t dig that up, I see. Yes, Lucas and I had a few memorable months together. But he never told me if he’d slept with her. So I can only tell you I don’t know. But Sam believed it. so it hardly matters.”
    It mattered, Noah thought. Every piece mattered.
    Like any self-respecting resident of Los Angeles, Noah conducted a great deal of business on the freeway. As he wound through traffic toward home, he used his cell phone to try to contact Charles Brighton Smith.
    Sam Tanner’s renowned defense attorney was seventy-eight, still practicing law when the mood struck him, on his fifth wife—this one a gorgeous twenty-seven-year-old paralegal— and currently enjoying the sun and surf at his island retreat on St. Bart’s.
    With tenacity, Noah managed to get as far as an administrative assistant who informed him in snippy tones that Mr. Smith was incommunicado, but the message and request for an interview would be related at the earliest convenience. Interpreting that to mean anytime from tomorrow to never, Noah went to work on accessing a copy of the trial transcript.
    He toyed with swinging off the exit to his parents’ house, then decided he would treat his father professionally, try to keep their personal relationship separate. Somehow.
    It was time, he thought, to sit down at his machine and begin working out an outline for the book. He’d already decided on the form. It wouldn’t begin with the murder, as he’d once planned, but with all that had led up to it.
    A section on Sam Tanner’s rise through Hollywood, paralleled by a section on Julie MacBride’s. The meeting that had