French Silk(123)

Ariel Wilde had undoubtedly picked up the rumor that Yasmine's suicide and Jackson Wilde's murder were connected by a matching ballistics report. She had wasted no time in whipping her followers into a spiritual frenzy. Cassidy had remarked sourly to a cohort that she would be valuable to the Pentagon. She was a master strategist who knew how to launch a rapidly organized but highly effective attack. She also had the unshakable loyalty of her followers, who worshipped her right along with Jesus, which in Cassidy's opinion was the problem with televangelism. It made bigger celebrities of the preachers than of the deities.

"Are you suggesting that Yasmine killed Jackson Wilde?" Claire asked as Cassidy pushed her into an elevator and pressed the button for the second floor.

"Listen," he said crisply, "I didn't believe it either, until I studied those test results myself."

"There's been a mistake. Somebody made a terrible error."

"I had them checked and rechecked, Claire. The evidence is indisputable. The same weapon fired those bullets. Why the hell didn't you tell me Yasmine had a gun? If you had, your friend might still be alive."

With an injured sound, Claire flattened herself against the wall of the elevator as though to get as far from him as possible. "You're a mean-spirited bastard, Cassidy."

The elevator doors slid open. "After you," he said silkily. He waited, leaving her no option but to step out. "This way. We're going to sort this mess out once and for all." Inside the corner office, he slammed the door behind them, shrugged off his coat, and pointed her to a chair. "You'd might as well make yourself comfortable. You're not leaving here until I get to the bottom of this."

"You asked my mother if Yasmine could have killed Reverend Wilde. That's why she was upset."

"I asked her what she knew about Yasmine owning a gun. I asked her if Yasmine ever talked about shooting Wilde. Stuff like that. I swear to you I was as gentle as possible." Claire's expression remained reproachful. "I was only doing my job, Claire."

"Oh, yes, your bloody job." She scooped back a handful of hair. Even that reflexive gesture seemed to require a lot of energy. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, and she appeared to be bone-weary. "May I at least call and check on her?"

He pointed to the telephone, then stuck his head through the door and bellowed an order for two coffees. By the time a scurrying clerk arrived with two steaming Styrofoam cups, Claire was concluding her brief call.

"The gumbo's on the stove. They're playing gin. Mama's winning."

Her smile would have looked at home on a madonna's face as she gazed at her sleeping child. Her lips looked soft and beautiful when she smiled that way. Cassidy tried not to think about how they tasted. "Coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"Drink it. You'll need it."

She pulled the cup toward her but didn't pick it up. She adjusted herself into a more comfortable position in the chair, crossing her legs and clasping her hands in her lap, then looked up at him. "Well? Ask away, counselor."

"Don't do this, Claire."

"Do what?"

"Don't make my job more difficult than it already is."

"I think the more difficult it is, the better you like it." He leaned over her. "Do you think I enjoy asking you questions about Yasmine, knowing how close you two were, knowing how devastated you must be by her suicide."

"But that doesn't stop you, does it? You want a culprit to feed to the lions."

He slapped the desk with his palm. "Damn right. And I want it to be somebody, anybody, besides you!"

A long, taut moment stretched between them. His eyes conveyed more than he was permitted to speak, but she got the message. Her gaze fell away and with it her defiance.

"Yasmine couldn't have killed Jackson Wilde," she said with soft emphasis. "Surely you don't believe she did."

"Why shouldn't I believe it?"

"She didn't even know him on a personal level. What possible motive could she have had?"

"The same as you. She wanted to shut him up. He was endangering her livelihood and she was in hock with creditors. We discovered that when we checked out her offering to Wilde."

"Yasmine was having financial difficulties, but Wilde was never a threat to French Silk. She thought it was hysterically funny that his objective had not only been defeated but had backfired. We were flourishing because of the publicity he gave us, and that tickled Yasmine. Anyway, whether or not she had motive is academic. She was in New York that night."

"No, she wasn't."

"I picked her up at the airport the following morning."

"And I subpoenaed the airline records, Claire. Weeks ago. She wasn't on that morning flight. She arrived the evening before, more than twelve hours earlier."

Claire stared at him in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I saw no reason to blow Yasmine's secret. I figured she came in early to see her lover and didn't want you to know because you disapproved of the affair. It was an issue between two friends, and I didn't want to be caught in the middle of it. But now her lie has taken on new significance."

He sat down on the corner of his desk, facing her. "Claire, did you know that Yasmine was in New Orleans that night?"