E Is for Evidence

"Just what Terry's told me. You know Lance borrowed money against the company two years ago and now he's losing his shirt. He'd love half a million bucks."

"Oh really. That's the first I heard of it."

She shrugged carelessly. "He went into the printing business, which is foolish in itself. I've heard printing and restaurants are the quickest way to go broke. He's lucky the warehouse burned down. Or is that the point?"

"Why don't you tell me?"

She rested her elbow on her knee and propped her chin up on her fist. "If you're looking for answers, I've just run out. I don't care about Lance. I don't care about Wood/ Warren, to tell you the truth. Sometimes the politics amuse me in a soap-opera kind of way, like Dynasty, but it's still boring stuff."

"What do you care about?"

"Te

"Sounds like a fun life."

"Actually, it is. I entertain. I do charity work when I have the time. There are people who think I'm a spoiled, lazy bitch, but I have what I want. That's more than most can say. It's the have-nots who wreak havoc. I'm a real pussycat."

"You're fortunate."

"Like they say, there's no such thing as a free ride. I pay a price, believe me."

I could see what an exhausting proposition that must be.

We heard someone at the entrance, then footsteps along the hall. By the time Terry Kohler reached the bed-room door, he was already in the process of removing his coat and tie.

"Hello, Kinsey. Olive mentioned you'd be stopping by. Let me grab a quick shower and then we can talk." He looked at Olive. "Could you fetch us a drink?" he said, his tone peremptory.

She didn't exactly perk up and pant, but that's the impression she gave. Maybe her job was harder than I thought. I wouldn't do that for anyone.

13

I waited in the living room while Olive stepped into the kitchen. The place was handsome; beveled windowpanes, pecan paneling, a fieldstone fireplace, traditional furniture in damask and mahogany. Everything was rose and dusty pink. The room smelled faintly spicy, like carnations. I couldn't imagine the two of them sitting here doing any-thing. Aside from the conventional good taste, there was no indication that they listened to music or read books. No evidence of shared interests. There was a current copy of Architectural Digest on the coffee table, but it looked like a prop. I've never known rich people to read Popular Me-chanics, Family Circle, or Road 6- Track. Come to think of it, I have no idea what they do at night.

Olive returned in ten minutes with a tray of hors d'oeuvres and a silver cooler with a wine bottle nestled in ice. Her entire ma

Olive crossed briskly to a sideboard and set out liquor bottles so we'd have a choice of drinks. The room was begi

I glanced over to see Terry standing in the doorway, freshly showered and dressed, his gaze lingering on the picture she presented. He caught my eye, smiling with the barest suggestion of proprietorship. He didn't look like an easy man to please.

"Gorgeous house," I said.

Olive looked over with a rare smile. "Thanks," she said.

"Have a seat," he said.

"I don't want to hold you up."

Terry waved dismissively, as if the pending conversa-tion took precedence. The gesture had the same ingratiat-ing effect as someone who tells his secretary to hold all the calls. It's probably bullshit… maybe no one ever calls anyway… but it gives the visitor a feeling of impor-tance.

"He'd never pass up a chance to talk business," Olive said. She handed him a martini and then glanced at me. "What would you like?"

"The white wine, if I may."

While I looked on, she opened the bottle, pouring a glass for me and then one for herself. She handed me mine and then eased out of her shoes and took a seat on the couch, tucking her feet up under her. She seemed softer, less egotistical. The role of helpmeet suited her, which surprised me, somehow. She was a woman who had no apparent purpose beyond indulging herself and pamper-ing "her man." The notion seemed outdated in a world of career women and supermoms.

Terry perched on the arm of the couch, staring at me with guarded interest. He took charge of the conversation, a move he must have been accustomed to. His dark eyes gave his narrow face a brooding look, but his ma

"Looks that way," I said. I helped myself to a fig. Heaven on the tongue.

"What do you need from us?"

"For starters, I'm hoping you can fill me in on Ava Daugherty."

"Ava? Sure. What's she got to do with it?"

"She was there the day I did the fire-scene inspection. She also saw Heather give me the envelope full of inven-tory sheets, which have since disappeared."

His gaze shifted and I watched him compose his reply before he spoke. "As far as I know, Ava's straight as an arrow. Hardworking, honest, devoted to the company."

"What about Lance? How does she get along with him?"

"I've never heard them exchange a cross word. He's the one who hired her, as a matter of fact, when it was clear we needed an office manager."

"How long ago was that?"

"God, it must be two, three years now," he said. He looked down at Olive, sitting close by. "What's your im-pression? Am I reporting accurately?"

Olive shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say she's crazy about him. She thinks he plays too much when he ought to be getting work done, but I don't think she'd devise any scheme to do him in." Olive passed the hors d'oeuvre tray to me. I thought it only gracious to sample something else so I selected a potato half and popped it in my mouth.

"Who might?" I asked, licking sour cream from my thumb. This shit was great. If they'd just leave the room for a minute, I'd have a go at the rest.

Both seemed to come up blank.

"Come on. He must have enemies. Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble over this," I said.

Terry said, "At the moment, I couldn't name one, but we can give it some thought. Maybe something will occur to us."

"What can you tell me about the Wood/Warren engi-neer who killed himself?"

"Hugh Case," Olive said.

Terry seemed surprised. "What brought that up? I just got a call from Lyda Case this afternoon."

"Really?" I said. "What did she have to say?" "It wasn't what she said so much as her attitude. She was completely freaked out, screaming at the top of her lungs. Said his death was my fault."

Olive looked at him in disbelief. "Yours? What bullshit! Why would she say that?"

"I have no idea. She sounded drunk. Ranting and rav-ing. Foulmouthed, shrill."

"That's curious," I said. "Is she here in town?" Terry shook his head. "She didn't say. The call was long distance from the sound of it. Where's she live?" " Dallas, I believe."