The Villa

groping each other during working hours. Under those circumstances, I think it's understandable that Ty might have been a bit frazzled and not in the mood to drive to the city for a business dinner with Margaret. But the main point is, unless I'm just stupid, that he didn't go in the first place and so is unconnected to what happened to her."
    Claremont listened patiently, nodded, then looked back at Tyler. It was, he supposed, a step to have his impression of the two of them verified. And another to note that MacMillan looked uncomfortable, and the Giambelli woman amused.
    "Have you ever had dinner in Ms. Bowers's apartment before?"
    "No. I've been there. Picked her up once for a business deal at the Four Seasons. We went together. That was about a year ago."
    "Why don't you just ask if he's ever slept with her?" Sophia suggested. "Ty, did you and Margaret ever—"
    "No." Torn between irritation and embarrassment, he shot her a fulminating look. "Jesus, Sophie."
    Before he could gather his composure, she patted his shoulder and took over. "She was attracted to him, and he was oblivious. Men often are, and Ty's a bit more dense about that sort of thing than most. I've been trying to get him in bed for—"
    "Will you stop it?" He had to struggle not to simply lower his head into his hands. "Listen, I'm sorry about what happened to Margaret. She was a nice woman. I liked her. And maybe if I hadn't canceled I could've called nine-one-one when she had the heart attack. But I don't see what these questions have to do with anything."
    "Did you ever give Ms. Bowers a bottle of wine?"
    Tyler dragged his hand through his hair. "I don't know.
    Probably. I give a lot of people, and business associates, bottles of wine. Kind of goes with the territory."
    "Wine carrying the Giambelli label, the Italian label?"
    "No, I use my own. Why?"
    "Ms. Bowers consumed nearly an entire bottle of Castello di Giambelli Merlot on the evening you were to dine with her. The bottle contained digitalis."
    "I don't get it." Even as Tyler reared up in his seat, Sophia was clamping a hand on his shoulder.
    "She was murdered?" Sophia demanded. "Poisoned? Margaret was… If you'd been there. If you'd had the wine…"
    "It's possible that if more than one person had shared the bottle, the dosage wouldn't have been lethal," Claremont stated. "But Ms. Bowers consumed nearly the entire bottle, in what was certainly one sitting. Do you have any idea how digitalis found its way into a bottle of Italian Merlot, and into Ms. Bowers's apartment?"
    "I have to call my grandmother." Sophia sprang to her feet. "If there's been product tampering, we have to deal with it quickly. I need all the information on that bottle. The vintage. I have to have a copy of the label to run it down."
    "Your grandmother's been informed," Maguire told her. "As have the proper Italian authorities. Product tampering is a possibility, but at this point we have no idea when Ms. Bowers obtained the bottle, or if it was given to her. We can't confirm she didn't add the dose to the wine herself."
    "Kill herself? That's ridiculous." Ty got to his feet. "She wasn't suicidal. She was doing great when I talked to her, happy with her job, excited about the new responsibilities, the travel."
    "Do you have any enemies, Mr. MacMillan? Someone who might have known your plans with Ms. Bowers that evening?"
    "No. And I'm not a target. In the first place, if the wine was tampered with, I'd have known it. I'd have nosed it or tasted it. It's what I do."
    "Exactly," Maguire concurred.
    Sophia felt her hackles rise. "Ty, you've answered enough questions. We're going to call a lawyer."
    "I don't need a goddamn lawyer."
    "We're calling Uncle James. Now."
    "That's your right." Claremont got to his feet. "A question for you, Ms. Giambelli. Do you know anything about the relationship between Ms. Bowers and your father?"
    Her blood iced over. "As far as I know, they didn't have one outside of business."
    "I see. Well, thank you for your time."
    " My father and Margaret."
    "It's just as likely he was pulling your chain."
    But Sophia worried on the nugget—chewing it, measuring its texture. "If there was something between them, and their deaths are connected—"
    "Don't rush it, Sophie." He put a hand over hers briefly, then downshifted to turn into the villa. He knew how shaken she was. She hadn't voiced the slightest objection when he'd gotten behind the wheel of her car to drive them.
    "If there's been