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“Very aware.”
“Of all the women in Charleston who’re hot for you, why—”
“I have a pressing schedule today, Davee. I haven’t got time for a lecture. I didn’t plan on falling in love with Alex this week. It just happened that way. And by the way, you’re a fine one to be preaching sermons about indiscretions.”
“I’m only warning you to be careful. I haven’t even been in the same room with the two of you, but it was evident to me just by the way she spoke your name that she’s in love with you.
“Anyone who has been with you when you’re together is bound to sense those undercurrents. Even someone as romantically disinclined as Rory. That’s why I called you.” Tears filled her eyes, and that alarmed him, because Davee never cried. “I’m afraid for you, Hammond. And for her.”
“Why, Davee? What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid that Rory killed Lute, and that he might kill someone else to cover it up.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled softly. “Thanks, Davee.”
“For what?”
“For caring about me. I love you for it. I love you even more for caring about Alex. I hope you become best friends.” He slid out of the booth, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Hammond?” she cried after him as he rushed from the booth.
“I’m on top of it,” he called back to her. “I promise.”
He jogged from the restaurant to his car. As he drove toward the hotel, he dialed Alex’s home number.
* * *
The lock on the kitchen door was still broken. It was careless of her not to have had it repaired by now. As he remembered from before, the kitchen was cozy and neat, although the faucet in the sink had developed a drip.
He was moving past the telephone when it rang, startling him. She answered it in another room on the second ring. Her voice drifted down the hallway toward him.
“Hammond, are you all right?”
She was in her office, her back to the door opening into the hall. He could smell the clove-spiked oranges in the bowl on the console table. She was seated in an armchair with what appeared to be patients’ files stacked on the end table at her elbow. One folder lay open in her lap along with a palm-size tape recorder. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows. Her hair attracted it like a magnet.
“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine.… What about Sergeant Basset?… So, you were right. In a way I feel sorry for him. There’s no telling what threats were used to get him to cooperate.… Yes, I will. Please call me as soon as you can.”
She ended her call and set the cordless phone on the table. Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned toward him suddenly. The open file folder slid off her lap onto the floor, scattering its contents across the Oriental rug. The recorder landed at her feet with a thud. Clearly, she had thought she was alone.
Her voice a near gasp, she said, “Detective Smilow, you startled me.”
* * *
Smitty had someone in his chair when Hammond walked past on his way to the elevators. “Hi, Smitty. Have you seen Detective Smilow today?”
“No, sir, Mr. Cross. I surely haven’t.”
Usually gregarious, Smitty didn’t look up and never broke his rhythm as he alternately whisked the brushes across the toe of his customer’s shoe. Hammond didn’t dwell on it. He was preoccupied with getting to the fifth-floor penthouse suite.
The yellow tape still formed an X across the door. Having obtained a key from the manager last night, he stepped through the tape and went inside, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The drapes were drawn, so the room was dim. He made a routine check of the parlor where the bloodstain in the carpet showed up almost black. As he understood it from the housekeeping staff, replacement carpet had been ordered.
Standing over the stain, he tried to work up some feelings of remorse for Pettijohn’s death, but he couldn’t garner any. He’d been a bastard in life. Even in death, he was still wreaking havoc on people’s lives.
Hammond moved into the bedroom and went straight to the closet. He gazed at the robe, hanging with the belt tied at the waist. It matched the one Lute had worn down to the spa. He had left his clothes here in the suite, showered in the spa, then exchanged the robe for his clothes when he returned.
“I might never have thought of it if you hadn’t mentioned it that afternoon we had drinks in the lobby bar,” he said.
