Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(37)

“Oh, and he’s deleted his son from his official ID.”

“I’d say the son is better off.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

Studying the board as she did, Roarke reached over to rub his hand over hers. “We had problematic childhoods, you and I, so we recognize others with that same broken foundation.”

“Some build their own, and some don’t.” Eve shrugged. “The mother only works at Mercy three days a week. She cut back ten years ago. A little more digging there? Paula lends her services two days a week, and half a day on Saturday, to the exclusive Eternal Flame clinic, which is—surprise!—owned and operated by Natural Order. Oliver also ‘volunteers’ there.”

Roarke frowned. “I don’t know this clinic.”

“Small, exclusive—as in members only—and in Westport.”

“So in Connecticut.”

“Where Wilkey has his headquarters.”

“That I do know about. The compound’s largely self-reliant. Its own schools, medical facilities, greenhouses and gardens.”

“And housing—including Wilkey’s main residence. More digging? Several Eternal Flame clinics globally, in wealthy suburbs. It’s a moneymaker, all of this. All legit, at least on the surface. So you wonder, in an organization like this, what’s under that surface. And what the careful Huffmans would do to protect that, to protect their reputations, their natural order.”

“As in dispose of the lover of their daughter who might expose the affair shortly before the wedding to the son of a respected family.”

“Yeah that. Especially if they had some hope to rope some of that money and influence into their organization. It’s a thought. Because somebody sure as hell killed her.”

“And conveniently for Gwen Huffman.” Roarke shifted his study from father to daughter. “If she hadn’t gone back the next morning, if she hadn’t reported it, started spinning lies, you wouldn’t have connected her. Or not easily. Not with her DNA and prints off record.”

“Even without, I’m going to trace the wine and flowers.” Eve pushed up, paced. “Yeah, we’d have tracked those back to her eventually. But does the killer know she habitually bought those? Or knowing, think we’d look there?”

“Which means you don’t think she’s the killer.”

“She didn’t use the hammer—but that doesn’t mean she isn’t the hammer. She’s not just connected, she’s the reason.

“Pattern.” She walked back to the table, sat. Then just pushed up again. “She’s in trouble, so she contacts her fiancé. He comes running this morning, and he comes to her again after she’s arrested. Somebody always takes care of things.”

“But then he doesn’t.”

“Right. She can try lying to him about the affair, but it won’t hold. He’s a lawyer, her lawyer, and he sees the evidence. So he gets her through the bail hearing, then that’s it. We’re done. Wedding’s off.”

“So no clear-cut way to cover now. And bail isn’t vindication.”

He rose as well, walked to her board. He often wondered if he saw what she did. “If she goes to her parents, will they cover for her, believe whatever lies she spins? Or will they discard her?”

“She needs somebody to fix it.” Eve paused to stand beside him. “So she tries Shelby. Summer friendship, summer love, nostalgia, rosy glasses.”

“Rose-colored.”

“Okay, fine. And a cop—isn’t that handy? It’s so perfect. She’ll lean on that prior connection, weep, beg, play the victim, and warm it up with a little sex.”

“And Shelby doesn’t cooperate. What now?”

“She’s got to come up with a new plan,” Eve said. “But go back. Her secret lover doesn’t want to be a secret. She wants more than sex when it’s convenient for Gwen. Argue, fight, say hard things. Pattern.”

“Someone needs to fix it for her,” Roarke finished.

“Everything’s on the line for her, right? She doesn’t attack Ariel, not physically, but she’s got connections. Connections that should be more than willing to fix her problem. Maybe we can find a communication on her mangled ’link. Maybe.”

As she shook her head, Eve hissed out a breath. “Still. She didn’t expect to find Ariel dead in the morning. Now that I have a better handle on her, I don’t think she’d have gone back if she knew. It’s more: Fix it for me, talk her out of it, threaten her, pay her off. All those make sense. And in her shallow way, she doesn’t think the fix is to take out the threat.”

“That fits pattern, and it’s logical. Except—”

“Yeah, yeah.” She turned away, realizing sometimes his ability to think like a cop irritated. “Why hasn’t she rolled on whoever she contacted? Save her own skin, make a deal.”

She turned back again, scowled at the board. “But that might be next. Or she might fear the fixer more than the fix she’s in.”

“Who does she fear? Her parents.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It didn’t work, it didn’t play, Eve admitted. “But her parents—certainly her father—are the ones she doesn’t want to know she’s banging it with another woman. I can’t see her telling Daddy. Somebody else she’s got on the string?”