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“He was shot in the back. Two bullets. We think he died instantly, and may even have been unconscious when the shots were fired.”
“Was he in bed?”
Of course Smilow knew the circumstances of her father’s death. Everybody in Charleston was well apprised of the scandalous details. She appreciated Smilow for looking a little pained and embarrassed as he answered her question. “Lute was found on the floor in the sitting room, fully dressed. The bed hadn’t been used. There was no sign of a romantic rendezvous.”
“Well, that’s a change, at least.” She drained her glass.
“When did you last see Lute?”
“Last night? This morning? I can’t remember. This morning, I think.” Davee ignored Steffi Mundell’s harrumph of disbelief and kept her eyes on Smilow. “Sometimes we went for days without seeing one another.”
“You didn’t sleep together?” Steffi asked.
Davee turned to her. “Where up North are you from?”
“Why?”
“Because you are obviously ill-bred and very rude.”
Smilow intervened again. “We’ll invade the Pettijohns’ private life only if we need to, Steffi. At this juncture it isn’t necessary.” Back to Davee, he asked, “You didn’t know Lute’s schedule today?”
“Not today or any day.”
“He hadn’t indicated to you that he was meeting someone?”
“Hardly.” She set her empty glass on the coffee table, and when she straightened, she squared her shoulders. “Am I a suspect?”
“Right now everyone in Charleston is a suspect.”
Davee locked eyes with him. “Lots of people had good reason to kill Lute.” Under her penetrating stare, he looked away.
Steffi Mundell stepped forward as though to remind Davee that she was still there, and that she was somebody important, somebody to be reckoned with. “I’m sorry if I came on a little too strong, Mrs. Pettijohn.”
She paused, but Davee wasn’t about to forgive her for her many infractions of the unwritten rules of decorum. Davee kept her expression impassive.
“Your husband was a prominent figure,” Steffi continued. “His business concerns generated a lot of revenue for the city, the county, and the state. His participation in civic affairs—”
“Is all this leading somewhere?”
She didn’t like Davee’s interruption, but she persisted undaunted. “This murder will impact the entire community and beyond. My office will give this top priority until the culprit is captured, tried, and convicted. You have my personal guarantee that justice will be swift and sure.”
Davee smiled her prettiest, most beguiling smile. “Ms. Mundell, your personal guarantee isn’t worth warm spit to me. And I’ve got unhappy news for you. You will not be prosecuting my husband’s murder case. I never settle for bargain-basement goods.” She gave Steffi’s dress a look of blatant distaste.
Then, turning to Smilow, the former debutante mandated how things were going to be. “I want the top guns on this. See to it, Rory. Or I, Lute Pettijohn’s widow, will.”
Chapter 5
“A hunerd big ones, right here.” The man slapped the stained green felt, flashing a beery and obnoxious grin that made Bobby Trimble shudder with revulsion.
Pinching his wallet from the back pocket of his trousers, Bobby removed two fifties and passed them to the stupid bastard, a cracker if he’d ever seen one. “Good game,” he said laconically.
The man pocketed the bills, then eagerly rubbed his hands together. “Ready to rack ’em up again?”
“Not right now.”
“You pissed? Come on, don’t be pissed,” he said in a wheedling voice.
“I’m not pissed,” Bobby said, sounding pissed. “Maybe later.”
