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“It was silly of me to lie, Mr. Smilow,” she said. “I guess I thought that a trip to Hilton Head sounded more convincing than a stop-over at a county fair.”
“Why did you feel the need to convince us?”
Frank Perkins held up a hand, but Alex said, “Because I’m unaccustomed to being interrogated by the police. I was nervous.”
“Forgive me, Dr. Ladd,” Smilow said wryly. “But you’re the least nervous person I have ever questioned. We’ve all commented on it. Ms. Mundell, Mr. Cross, and I all have agreed that you’re remarkably composed for someone under suspicion of murder.”
Unsure if he meant that as an insult or a compliment, she didn’t respond. It made her uneasy to know that they had discussed her. What had Hammond’s “comments” on her been? she wondered. She had certainly provided him a lot to talk about, hadn’t she?
“You’re a fraud, you know.”
“I beg your pardon.” Pretending to be affronted, she grabbed two handfuls of his hair and tried to lift his head. But he was unyielding.
“You come across as a woman who’s all calm, cool, and collected.” The stubble on his chin lightly scratched her tummy. “That’s what I thought after I rescued you from the marines. This is one cool chick.”
She laughed. “Between a fraud and a chick, I’m not sure which is the most offensive.”
“But in bed,” he continued, undeterred both in his vein of conversation and his intent, “your participation is anything but contained.”
“It’s hard—”
“It certainly is,” he groaned. “But it can wait.”
“—to keep one’s composure when…”
“When?”
“When…” Then his tongue touched her and her composure was shattered.
“You went to this fair alone?”
“What?” For one horrifying moment, she feared she had gasped out loud, echoing her orgasm. Even more horrifying, she had unintentionally turned and was looking at Hammond. His eyes were hot, as though he had been following her thoughts. A blood vessel in his temple was distended and ticking.
She whipped her head back around to Smilow, who repeated his question. “You went to this fair alone?”
“Yes. Yes, alone. That’s right.”
“And you remained alone throughout the evening?”
Looking into Rory Smilow’s implacable eyes, it was difficult to lie. “Yes.”
“You didn’t join a friend there? You didn’t meet anyone?”
“As I said, Mr. Smilow, alone.”
He paused for a beat. “What time did you leave? Alone.”
“When the attractions began closing. I don’t remember the exact time.”
“Where did you go from there?”
Frank Perkins said, “Irrelevant. This whole interrogation is irrelevant and improper. There’s no basis for it, so it doesn’t matter where Alex was, or whether or not she was alone. She doesn’t have to account for her whereabouts on Saturday evening any more than you do, because you still can’t place her inside Pettijohn’s hotel suite. She’s told you she didn’t even know him.
“It’s appalling that someone with her impeccable reputation and high standing in the community is being subjected to questioning. Some guy from Macon claims to have seen her at a time when his bowels were about to burst. Do you honestly consider him a reliable witness, Smilow? If you do, then you’ve lowered your own rigid standards of criminal investigation. In any event, you’ve inconvenienced my client all you’re going to.” The lawyer motioned for Alex to stand.
“That was a nice speech, Frank, but we’re not done here. My investigators have caught Dr. Ladd in another lie that concerns the murder weapon.”
Vexed but wary, Frank Perkins backed down. “It better be good.”
