“I don’t see how you could possibly ascertain that information,” Virgil said quietly.
Rafe glanced at Hannah. He knew they were both thinking the same thing.
“There just may be a way to do that,” he told Virgil.
“Indeed?” Virgil looked intrigued. “Fascinating. You do understand that under normal circumstances I would not even consider providing you with this list. But given what you say may have been an attempt on your life, Ms. Harte, I will try to help. There is just one thing I would like for you both to keep in mind.”
“What’s that?” Rafe asked.
“When it comes to blackmail,” Virgil said very seriously, “there are sometimes others besides the victim who have a motive to kill the blackmailer.”
Hannah’s brows snapped together. “Such as?”
“Such as anyone who has a great deal invested in the victim,” Virgil said.
Rafe looked at him. “Hell, do you think maybe we should be looking at all the wives of these guys you know who like to run around in lacy unmentionables?”
“Never forget the old saying about the female of the species being just as deadly as the male. The wife of a prominent, wealthy, or powerful man who could be brought low by blackmail would certainly have reason to get rid of a potential threat to her future income and position.”
They all pondered that for a moment. Then Virgil turned away and walked to the counter. He picked up a pen and started to write names down on a sheet of yellow paper.
Hannah moved closer to Rafe and lowered her voice. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking about how to figure out who might have left the reception and returned between midnight and two?”
“A.Z.’s logbooks.”
“Yes.” Hannah watched Virgil. “You know her better than I do. Think she would let us look at them?”
“I might be able to talk her into it.”
“But, Rafe, even if we come up with a good suspect, what can we do with the information? Officially there was no murder, and we don’t have anything that resembles proof.”
“We’ll work on that part after we get the good suspect.”
They stood in silence for a while, waiting for Virgil to finish his list. After a time Rafe got restless. He wandered over to a pile of padded leather handcuffs. He picked up one and examined the Velcro fastener.
Hannah gave him the same sort of look she had given Winston when he tried to investigate the condom wrapper out in the parking lot.
“Don’t even think about it,” she said.
Mitchell settled into the overstuffed easy chair with a familiar sense of contentment. The chair had been new and a little stiff a year ago when he had first started visiting Bev on a regular basis. But he had spent a lot of time in it during the past months, and the leather upholstery had shaped itself to his body. It was comfortable and welcoming. Sort of like Bev herself, he thought.
But there was a lot more to Bev than warmth and comfort. There was stimulation, both mental and physical. He loved to argue with her. Loved to play cards with her. Loved to go for long walks along the river with her. She made him feel good in ways that no other woman ever had, not even in the wild years following the breakup of Harte-Madison when he’d chased the illusion of passion the way other men had chased wealth or fame, or adrenaline.
Bev walked into the living room with the coffee tray. He turned away from the view of the river to look at her. A deep pleasure reverberated somewhere inside. There was wisdom and warmth and laughter in her eyes. Her own personal standards were high, always had been. But unlike some folks he knew who had made it this far in life, himself included, she was not inclined to judge others harshly. She accepted people as they were.
A fine figure of a woman, he thought, watching her pour the coffee. Bev was a great believer in vitamins and exercise, and the results were obvious. There was a healthy, energetic aura about her. She had not magically escaped the common chronic problems that came with the years. Six months ago he’d noticed the bottle of blood pressure pills in the kitchen cupboard above her sink. There was another bottle of tablets for the relief of arthritis in her bathroom, the same brand his own doctor had prescribed for him. But Bev’s natural optimism and zest for living subtracted years from the calendar.
She had always had an instinct for style. Today her silver hair was swept back from her forehead in a short, sophisticated bob. She wore a good-looking black-and-white pantsuit that accented her healthy figure. Little silver rings dangled from her ears.
She smiled and handed him a cup of coffee. “How are things going over there in Eclipse Bay? Are you and Rafe getting along okay?”
“As well as we ever did.” Mitchell sipped the coffee. Just enough sugar and a splash of milk. Bev knew how he liked it. “Better, maybe. But he’s still one stubborn, muleheaded son of a gun.”
Bev took her seat and crossed her legs in a graceful, unconsciously feminine movement that sent a whisper of anticipation through him. A few months back, his doctor had written another prescription for him, one that worked hydraulic marvels. He and Bev had gotten a lot of use out of it lately.
“Sounds like a chip off the old block,” Bev said.
“Why the hell does everyone keep saying that?”
“Probably because it’s true.”
He bristled a little. “Well, I’m working on seeing to it that Rafe doesn’t make all the same mistakes I did.”
Bev chuckled. “A worthy project. Good luck.”
“Thanks. I’m gonna need it.” He frowned. “He’s carrying on with Hannah Harte.”
Bev’s brows rose in surprise. “Carrying on, as in having an affair with her?”
“That too. It’s Isabel’s fault. If she hadn’t left that damn house to both of ’em none of this would have happened.”
“What exactly has happened?”
“I just told you—they’re sleeping together.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hell, everyone in town knows it.”
“Hmm.” Bev tilted her head slightly to the side as she contemplated that information. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you. Isabel was a very, very smart woman. She probably knew what she was doing when she drew up that will.”
Mitchell grunted. “Maybe yes, maybe no. Either way, it all comes down to the same thing. Rafe’s carrying on with Hannah, and her family hasn’t got a clue. When Sullivan Harte finds out, he’s gonna shit… uh, he’s gonna blow his top.”
