Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(24)

“She wanted more. I came to see that. She wanted more than I could give her, than I wanted to give her. I love Merit. I want to spend my life with Merit, and she knew that, but …”

“She threatened to tell him.”

“I don’t know what happened. We had wine. I arranged the flowers I’d brought her, then we … we were together. After, we were just talking, having more wine and talking. Merit texted me. I shouldn’t have answered—I realize it hurt her feelings, made her angry, but I answered. She said I had to call off the wedding. We argued, and she became angrier, furious. I’d never seen her like that. She said she was tired of being some embarrassing secret, and if I didn’t tell Merit, she would.”

She paused to drink more water, then bowed her head. “We had a terrible fight about it. I said awful things to her, and she said awful things to me. She threw on some clothes, said she was going to work, and I’d better think about how I wanted this to end.

“We kept arguing while I dressed, then I stormed out. I was so upset. She knew I was going to marry Merit, she knew what we had was separate. I barely slept, and I started to think about the ugly things we’d said to each other. I didn’t want it to end that way. She meant something to me. I decided to go back and talk to her, face-to-face, when we were both calm, calm and sober. I knew we couldn’t be together, not anymore, but I’d hoped we could erase those awful words, be kind to each other again.”

“And you wanted to persuade her not to tell your fiancé about the affair.”

Eve noted the calculation, lightning fast. “All right, yes. I didn’t want what had been a positive experience for me, a personal exploration, to upend the rest of my life. I’d hoped in the light of day we could both be calm, reasonable adults and part as friends. And the rest, the terrible rest, is what I’ve already told you.”

“No, it’s not.” Just like, Eve thought, her latest version mixed truth and lies. “The door wasn’t unsecured when you got there. You let yourself in this morning. Where’s the key card Ariel gave you?”

The quick flush came from irritation on Eve’s gauge, not embarrassment. “I’d forgotten I’d told you that. Obviously I told you that because I didn’t want you to know I had a key.”

“Where is it?”

“I threw it away.”

“When? Where?”

“This morning. I broke it in half, threw it in a recycler bin on the street.”

“Where? Near her place or yours?”

“Near the wineshop, before I got a cab.”

“Then you waited nearly an hour to call nine-one-one.”

“I was in shock.”

“But not so much you couldn’t think to ditch the key card. Bullshit on shock. You used the time it took to get back uptown to calculate what to do, what worked best to protect yourself. No signs of shock when you entered the lobby, the elevator, the hallway to your apartment. We can run that feed for you.”

“You don’t know what I felt. You don’t know my mental or emotional state.”

“Sure I do. You ditched the card in an attempt to remove a connection that might be seen as too close. It occurred to you on that trip uptown someone might have seen you go in or out of Ariel’s apartment. Not such a worry during the affair—just visiting a friend—but now that friend’s dead, and the cops are going to ask questions.”

Rising, Eve wandered the room.

“You have to be the one to call it in. You have to come up with a story that portrays a friendship—close, but still casual, and certainly not romantic. You have to have a reason for going downtown so early in the morning. You worked it all out while you came back uptown, while you put the DND on your apartment. Took a shower, removed the makeup, changed your clothes.”

Pausing, Eve edged a hip on the table.

“The virgin white was a nice touch. Work hysteria into your voice when you call it in, then go over and over how you’ll play it before you tag your fiancé, the lawyer.

“That sound about right?”

“Ariel was dead, and I couldn’t change that. I reported it, and I looked after myself. That’s not a crime.”

“You’d be surprised. Who did you contact after your fight with Ariel? Who did you tell about her threat to go to your fiancé? Who did you ask to take care of it?”

“No one! Are you crazy?”

“Speaking of crazy, maybe you tagged one of your friends in Natural Order.”

She didn’t flush this time; she blanched.

“The order likes to target gays, the trans, the mixed race, LCs—and the list goes on. So, you tell them to meet you where the cab dropped you off, pass them Ariel’s key card—because a copy of her card, like yours, was used to gain entry minutes before she died.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It’s fact. Your parents are longtime members of Natural Order.”

“That’s not a crime, either.”

“Not yet, no, but some members have been known to commit crimes. Violent crimes. Maybe you called Daddy.”

“I would never—For God’s sake, why would I go through all this so my parents wouldn’t find out, then tell my father?”

“You’re good at making up stories,” Eve speculated. “ ‘Daddy, I’m in trouble. A friend—oh, I made a terrible mistake becoming friends with her. I was visiting her tonight because Merit’s working late. Just having some wine, some girl talk, and she—she tried to—she wanted me to—I refused, I pushed her away, and she got so angry. She’s going to tell Merit I’ve been with her, intimately with her. She said unless I slept with her—she said I led her on all this time, and if I didn’t do what she wanted she’d tell Merit I did, have been.’ ”