The Final Victim(61)

Phyllida watches him douse his scrambled eggs with another hefty dose of Louisiana hot sauce, then take a huge bite without wincing or washing it down with water.

She shakes her head and nibbles a green grape from her fruit plate, remembering that he always did like things hotter and spicier than anyone else could stomach. Their mother always said his taste buds just aren't wired to be as sensitive as most people's.

Phyllida sometimes wondered if the rest of him might not be wired that way as well. In that way, her brother reminds her of their grandfather. Nothing bothers him, really. Physically, emotionally…

Financially, yes, she acknowledges. Money, he cares about "Do you, think we should have stayed at the hospital?" she asks him.

"I guess not. I don't think she really wanted us there."

"No, probably not" She spears a fat red strawberry with her fork before asking casually, "So where were you last night, anyway?"

His head jerks up. "How did I know you weren't going to let that-drop?"

"Come on, Gib. You were out all night? Where did you go?"

"To an art gallery opening."

"Where?"

"In Savannah. On River Street You want the address and a bunch of witnesses? Because I promise I can give you both."

Ignoring that she asks, "You were there all night?"

"No. I hit a couple of bars after."

"Who were you with?"

"Nobody you know."

"So do the bars still close at three AM around here?" she asks.

He shrugs. "I wouldn't know. Maybe you should call City Hall and see if they do."

"I'm just wondering," she says succinctly, "where you were between three in the morning and when you came home to pick me up."

She bites into the strawberry, conscious of her brother's gaze on her.

"You actually think I had something to do with trying to bump off Charlotte's husband, don't you?" he asks flatly.

"Or course I don't dunk so, Gib. But I hope you have a good alibi. Because you know they're going to ask."

"The police?"

She nods.

"What about you?" he asks in return. "Where were you?"

"Where else? Stuck at Oakgate."

"Doing what?"

"Mostly watching TV in my room. And sleeping."

"You were there all night? You never left?"

"How could I leave? I don't even have a car. I had to wait for you to get home before I could even go to the hospital, remember?"

"You could have taken Grandaddy's Town Car out of the carriage house."

Phyllida sets down her fork, having lost her appetite. She forgot all about that.

"How would I even know where the keys were?" she asks Gib defensively.

"Nydia would have known."

"Oh, please. She goes to bed at eight o'clock."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tried to find her to see if she knows if there's an Internet connection on the computer in Grandaddy's study, and her door was closed. There was no light on in there. I could tell by the crack under the door."

"Why the computer? Trying to hack into the financial files?" Gib asks, looking momentarily amused.

"No, Brian took the laptop back with him and I wanted to read Variety online. I'll leave the financial hacking to you," she adds with a smirk.

"Don't kid about that. We might have to resort to it. So did anybody at Oakgate see you last night so they can vouch for you? Nydia? The kid?"

"No." This isn't good. The police might do some snooping around, find out about the will, and realize she or Gib would have had a pretty good motive to get rid of the Maitlands.

"I wonder if I can possibly get Nydia to say she saw me around the house," she muses aloud, then dismisses the idea with a flat, "Nah, I can't see her helping out of the goodness of her heart. She never liked me-or you, either. She thought we were the wild kids compared to Miss Perfect."

Gib doesn't argue with that.

"Maybe she won't help out of the goodness of her heart, Phyll," he says, "but she might if you give her some incentive."

"Like what?"

"What else? Cash."

"She never struck me as being the least bit materialistic," Phyllida points out "Yeah, well, maybe she's secretly longing for a mink coat."

"How much money are we talking about, here?" Phyllida asks.

"A lot This is serious, Phyll. You need an airtight alibi as much as I do."

"Well, I can't imagine Nydia agreeing to he to the police for anyone, at any price."

"You're probably right" Gib polishes off the rest of his eggs in a single gulp, then eyes the remains of her fruit plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

Wordlessly, she slides her plate across the table and wonders how he can possibly eat at a time like this. Her own stomach is in knots.

But then, that's Gib. She doubts he's ever missed a meal, or lost a moment's sleep, because of stress.

It must be nice to go through life that certain you're going to land on your feet. Somehow, Gib always does.

But the odds are that sooner or later, he's going to fall flat on his face.