French Silk(18)

"Not when you consider all that you stood to lose if his plans for your business had been realized."

"It never would have happened."

"Maybe you wanted to make damn certain it didn't."

She ran her hand through her hair and visibly composed herself, unwrinkling the lines of consternation in her forehead. When she again looked up at him, her features were as smooth as a porcelain doll's.

"Mr. Cassidy, as I've already told you, I never met Reverend Wilde. I never corresponded with him directly. Nor did we ever speak by telephone, although I was contacted by personnel within his ministry, challenging me to publicly debate him, which I repeatedly declined to do. I had nothing whatsoever to do with him. I certainly didn't kill him."

"He placed your business in jeopardy."

"He entertained the delusions of a fanatic," she cried, her composure slipping a notch. "Do you honestly believe that he could have toppled the Playboy empire?"

"But you're much smaller game."

"Granted. So what?"

"So you're also headquartered right here in New Orleans. Maybe when he brought his crusade to town, you seized the opportunity to shut him up forever."

Complacently, she folded her arms across her stomach. "That would have been rather obvious, wouldn't it? You might believe me to be capable of committing murder, Mr. Cassidy, but please, never underestimate my intelligence."

"No," he said softly, as he peered into the depths of her amber eyes. "You can be sure I won't."

His stare lasted a few heartbeats too many, switching from accusatory to something closer to interest. Cassidy became profoundly uncomfortable with it. She, however, was the one to break it. "It's obvious that you don't have any physical evidence linking me to this crime."

"How do you know?"

"Because none exists. I wasn't there." She raised her chin. "You came here because you're grasping at straws, scavenging for a case because neither your office nor the police have arrested a suspect and the murder is now over seventy-two hours old. The widow is accusing the local authorities of laziness, incompetence, and indifference. You're taking a beating from the media, and Wilde's followers are demanding swift and sure justice.

"In short, Mr. Cassidy, you need a scapegoat." She paused to draw a breath. "I'm sympathetic to your problem, but my sympathies don't extend to having my character insulted and my privacy violated. Please leave."

Cassidy was impressed by the effectiveness and accuracy of her speech. It was true that Crowder was getting nervous over the sticky situation created by the Wilde murder. The press coverage of the police investigation was becoming more sly and sarcastic with each report.

Ariel Wilde and the late evangelist's entourage were growing increasingly vocal in their criticism of everyone from the honorable mayor to the lowliest cop on the beat. The widow wanted to take Wilde's body to Tennessee for burial, but the police were reluctant to release it, hoping that, in spite of Elvie Dupuis's thorough autopsy, they might find a previously overlooked clue. The whole situation, just as Crowder had forecast, had grown nasty, a three-ring circus run amok.

Claire Laurent was correct on all accounts. The sad fact was that Cassidy didn't have a shred of evidence that could tie her or anyone else to the murder scene. On the other hand, since entering this room he'd felt that she was withholding something. She'd been inordinately polite, but gut instinct told him she didn't want him here.

When he had been a defense attorney, that same gut instinct had always told him when his client was guilty despite his avowals of innocence. It was the sixth sense that let him know when a witness was lying through his teeth. It was the gut quiver of either victory or defeat that he felt just before a verdict was read. That instinct was rarely wrong. He trusted and relied on it.

He knew there was more to Claire Laurent than what one saw on the surface. Her eyes might be windows to her soul, but the shutters were closed. Only occasionally did one catch a glimpse of the woman living behind them. She was more than a savvy businesswoman and devoted daughter, more than a mess of sexy hair, more than a mouth that made him glad some laws were unenforceable. There were elements to her that she kept carefully concealed. Why?

Cassidy resolved to dig until he knew. "Before I go—"

"Yes, Mr. Cassidy?"

"I want to see a copy of your catalog."





* * *



Chapter 4

? ^ ?

Claire was surprised by the request. "Why?"

"I tried buying one at several newsstands and couldn't find it."

"The catalog isn't sold at retail stores. It's mailed to subscribers only."

"What's in it that had Reverend Wilde so hot and bothered?"

"You should have asked him."

"Well, since he's unavailable for comment," he said dryly, "I'd like to see it for myself."

She had thought that once the media stopped hounding her for a statement, her worries regarding the murder would be over. Never had she expected a visit from an assistant D.A., although she congratulated herself on handling the situation well so far. But now she desperately wanted him to leave so that she could collect her thoughts. Conversely, she didn't want to appear hostile or, more to the point, as though she had something to hide. He had only asked to see the catalog, after all. As long as his questions didn't become too personal, she felt there was no danger in humoring him.