He swiped at a tear. “I know that sounds weird, because Eliza’s not like a mom, she’s my best friend. But Brant’s like a dad. He’s like: ‘Are you still seeing Franco? Is he treating you right?’ And if I said, ‘We broke up,’ Brant would just say Franco wasn’t good enough for me, and I’d find the one just like he did with Eliza.”
“The former assistant, I assume Ms. Lane fired her.”
“Sure, yeah.”
“And do you know where this person is now?”
“Um…” He swiped at more tears as his brow furrowed. “I think she went back to Kansas or out there. She just wasn’t cut out for New York.”
“Would you have her name?”
“Sure, sure, give me a second to pull it out.” He closed his eyes, hummed to himself. “There it is. Suzannah Clarkson. And not Kansas. Kansas City, but Missouri.”
“That’s a good memory you’ve got there.”
“I keep it all filed.” He wagged a hand beside his head.
“How about you run me through tonight?”
He did, and in detail, providing what people wore, snippets of conversation, who came with whom, who he felt hit the bar or the buffet a little heavy. He hadn’t invited a plus-one because he considered it a working party, and besides, he’d just broken things off with the aforementioned Franco.
“Lin and I were in the dining room when Eliza and Samantha started the duet. I wanted to move in, because there’s nothing like watching Eliza sell it, but I hung back so other people could. And I had this little skip in my heart when I caught sight of Brant lifting a glass, toasting her, and how they looked at each other. Just for an instant, because she was in character for the duet. It was magic, you know? Those voices, and all the people dressed so fine, New York out the windows. I got lost in it. I’ll never take all of it for granted, so I got lost in it. I thought I heard a glass break, and remember I thought: Oops. Just oops. Then screaming, and it was awful, it was all awful.”
He stopped to drink, and shuddered with it.
“I didn’t know what happened, didn’t know it was Brant. I just wanted to get to Eliza, but I couldn’t get through all the people. I heard her crying, but I couldn’t get to her, not at first.”
“When you did?”
“I froze, I think. I just stood there, frozen. I kept thinking this isn’t real, can’t be. It was like passing out, but standing up. And when Lin pulled her away, I tried to help, but nothing worked right in my head. I heard them say he was gone, but he was right there, on the floor, so I didn’t get it.”
His voice hitched now, and he pressed his fingers to his mouth again. But this time to hold back a sob.
“The one who said he was a doctor and Sylvie took Eliza away, so I got a rag and I cleaned up the glass. It was like moving in fog. I thought, I better clean up the glass before somebody gets cut. I shouldn’t have, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. We got it.”
“I knocked on Wayne and Cara’s door. They don’t stay long at a party if they’re not needed. I just started crying. And the police came. Can I go down to Sylvie’s and see Eliza?”
“Maybe tomorrow’s better. She’s probably resting by now. Just a couple more questions, then you can go home.”
“Can I go to my mom’s? I don’t want to go home. Can I go to my mom’s instead?”
“That’s fine. Just a couple more questions.”
When he left, Eve considered. “How about Killer Dress, Peabody?”
“Vera Harrow. McNab reports she’s bitched about being held like a prisoner of war.”
“Great. Change of pace. Let’s have her, and can you see if they’ve got any coffee in this place?”
“I can attest they do, and some good stuff.”
Eve busied herself doing some quick runs until Peabody brought both the witness and the coffee. Vera, obviously undeterred by potential poison, carried a flute of champagne.
She paused—no doubt for effect—with one hand on her hip. “The butler’s pantry? Seriously?”
“We take investigations very seriously. Have a seat, Ms. Harrow.”
“I want it on the record that I object—also seriously—at being held here like a common thief for well over an hour. Nearly two goddamn hours now.”
“So noted.”
The dress might’ve been a killer, Eve thought, but the body inside it was the true perpetrator. Lush and luxurious, and not afraid to show it. Vera swiveled her way to the chair, sat, crossed long, shapely legs.
“I know who you are,” she began, in a voice like white satin. “Don’t for a moment think your reputation intimidates me.”
“Okay. You and the deceased were once involved.”
“Brant and I had a blistering, bountiful, brilliant sexual affair.” She tossed back her hair and, with a little smile, sipped from the flute. “A weak man, but a Trojan in bed. Then Eliza got her claws in him. She’d recently been tossed aside so naturally wanted what I had.”
“You sound bitter.”
“Have you ever been cheated on?”
“Irrelevant.”
“No, it’s not. If you have, and had any pride, you’d understand the bitterness of being cheated on and cast aside, and lied to about the cheating.” She flicked a hand in the air so her diamonds flashed in the light. “I don’t believe in water under the bridge or over the dam or wherever the fuck it’s supposed to go. Eliza stole something from me, and very deliberately.”
“Something?”
“A lover I very much enjoyed, and the resulting media was brutal to me. They, the starry-eyed couple, and me, the discard.” With eyes somehow smug and feral, she hooked an arm over the back of the chair. “I say when an affair’s over, as others have learned. I enjoy the bitterness.”
“Enough to poison the man who once discarded you?”
She blinked, and for an instant her eyes reflected shock. Calculation followed swiftly. “If I’d thought of it, I’d have done it years ago. But I’d have been more inclined to poison Eliza. But then I’d have to give up my very tasty bitterness. I prefer standing back, waiting for their we’re-so-perfect marriage to implode. Which it would, in time.”
A hard-ass, Eve thought. Generally speaking, she admired hard-asses. She found it easy to make an exception for Vera Harrow.
“They were going on ten years.”
“In time,” she repeated with another flick of her fingers. “Nothing lasts forever. Then I’d lure Brant back, use him, and discard him as publicly and cruelly as possible. Payback doesn’t have to be immediate.” She smiled, a feral cat’s smile that matched her eyes. “It just has to be satisfying.”
“Did you come here tonight hoping for that implosion?”
“You never know.” She lifted one smooth shoulder, sipped from the flute. “Besides, even I can admit Eliza throws a spectacular party. I’m sorry he’s dead. Now I’ll never get the chance for that payback, and Eliza snags the role of the grieving widow. The media will lap it up like cream. Add murder, if that’s what this was? It layers on shock, drama, titillation.”