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Lisbeth wasn't pleased to see cops at her door. She stared through Eve and ignored Peabody. "I have nothing to say to you. My counsel has advised—"
"Save it." Eve pushed her way in.
"This is harassment. One call to my lawyer, and I'll have your badge."
"How tight were the Branson boys, Lisbeth?"
"Excuse me?"
"J. C. must have talked to you about his brother. What did they think of each other?"
"They were brothers." Lisbeth shrugged. "They ran a business together. They had their ups and downs."
"Did they fight?"
"J. C. didn't fight with anyone, really." Something like grief flickered in her eyes and was quickly shut down. "They disagreed occasionally."
"Who ran the show?"
"B. D. ran the show." Lisbeth waved a hand. "J. Clarence was better with people, and creatively he enjoyed having input in new projects. It didn't bother him that B. D. held the reins."
"What was his relationship with Clarissa?"
"He liked her, of course. She's a charming woman. I think she intimidated him somewhat. She's very formal and aloof for all that air of fragility."
"Really, but you were friends?"
"Friendly. After all, we were both involved with a Branson. We socialized, with and without them."
"Did she ever tell you B. D. mistreated her?"
"Mistreated?" Lisbeth let out a short laugh. "The man fawned on her. All she had to do was bat her eyes and purr and he jumped."
Eve glanced toward the wall screen, noted it was turned off. "Not watching the news these days?"
"No." She turned her head and for a moment looked tired and strained. "I'm making arrangements to clean up some personal matters before I transfer to the rehabilitation center."
"Then you wouldn't have heard that B. Donald Branson was killed last night."
"What?"
"He fell during a struggle when he was beating his wife."
"That's ridiculous. That's absurd. He wouldn't lay a hand on Clarissa. He worships her."
"Clarissa claim
s he's been abusing her physically for years."
"Then she's a liar," Lisbeth snapped out. "He treated her like a princess, and if she says otherwise, she's lying through her teeth."
She stopped abruptly, went very pale.
"You didn't find the photographs in your mail slot, did you, Lisbeth? You had them handed to you by someone you trusted—someone you thought cared about J. C."
"I—I found them."
