Festive in Death (In Death #39)(40)

Rising, she walked to a cabinet, took out a decanter, poured herself amber liquid in a short glass. “I knew what he meant. It wasn’t a secret he offered separate and private services.”

She stared down at the glass. “Intimate services. I wasn’t going to have him come here, in my home. I wouldn’t . . . not in the same bed I slept in with my husband. So—as I also know other clients had—I suggested a hotel. I booked a suite, ordered up champagne. He met me there. We went through the pretense—or the foreplay—of the massage. Then we had sex. He’s good at it, and JJ hadn’t been attentive in some time.”

“How much did you pay him?”

Color stained her cheeks again before she drank. “Three thousand extra, then I booked another private session. We had two a week for three weeks before . . . he died. We were booked for one right after Christmas. I was going to cancel that as JJ and I . . . things are better. We’re talking about taking a holiday after the first of the year, JJ’s idea. We’re trying to find the magic again.”

“Did Ziegler threaten to tell your husband?”

“Why would he? We had a mutually beneficial arrangement. If he told JJ, it couldn’t continue. I hadn’t canceled the last session as yet.”

“Why, if you’re coming out of that rough patch?”

“God.” She rubbed her temple. “I’d thought I’d see him once more—not for sex—but to tell him we had to end it. I’d planned to give him a little extra, a thank-you. And then . . . Not only did I learn he’d been killed, but that my own sister slept with him. He shouldn’t have slept with Tella—it’s just unseemly. And believe me, it was awkward when she told me.”

“‘Unseemly,’” Eve repeated. “‘Awkward.’”

“Yes. A woman might share a hairdresser, for instance, with her sister. A designer, a decorator. But not a lover. It was a business transaction, basically. I knew that going in. But . . . a woman in my position can’t hire a professional. An affair—and I could let myself think of it as an affair—it had more . . . romance.”

“Were you in love with him?” Peabody asked. Quigley laughed.

“Please. I said before, I’m not an idiot. He provided a service, I paid. But he was someone I knew, someone who understood my body and my needs. It was good for me. It may have helped my marriage, though JJ would never see it that way. I’d like to salvage my marriage if I can. I’m realistic enough to know that may not be possible, but I’d like to give it some time, and try.”

“You set the time and place, a clear understanding what was to transpire on both sides of this arrangement with Ziegler.”

“Yes. My marriage may have been in that rough patch, but I have enough respect for JJ not to carry on an affair in the home we share.”

“You’re so sure your husband doesn’t know?”

“If he did, even if he suspected? The way things have been the last few weeks, he’d never have suggested we take a trip, spend a week in Tahiti rekindling our marriage. No.” She set her jaw. “He’d have thrown it in my face, and called a divorce attorney.”

“Would he have thrown it in Ziegler’s face? Wasn’t he also a client?”

“Confront Trey? No, no, he’d blame me, and he’d never let me forget it. He wouldn’t have confronted Trey.” But she wet her lips, drank again. “JJ’s excitable, and he’s been angry with me—and I with him—but he’s not really a violent man. He’d never have . . . he wouldn’t.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Eve pointed out.

“Because you’re throwing all this at me.” Her voice rose, flirting with hysteria. “Because it’s all so upsetting. I had an affair, and I paid for it. Literally and emotionally.”

She took another drink, breathed in and out. “My husband doesn’t know, and I want to keep it that way. I’d like to mend the frays in my marriage. If I can’t, I’d prefer to end that marriage as cleanly as possible.”

“Do you love your husband?” Peabody asked her.

“I want a chance to find out, that’s all. I’d like the chance to find out the answer.”

“Where were you when Ziegler was killed? Your sister gave us her whereabouts.”

“I was here, preparing for the party that night. You can question the domestics, the decorating team—they, and I, were here all day. I had catering staff arrive at seven-fifteen, and was here to speak with them. I was here all day, supervising the preparations.”

“And your husband?”

“I’m honestly not sure, and it’s ridiculous. I was working with the staff, the caterers, so I’m not sure when he arrived. But I know he was here by seven-thirty, as he was dressing when I ran up to change for the first arrivals.”

“Where’s your husband now?” Eve asked her.

“I—at his office, I suppose. Please.” She sat again, leaned toward Eve. “Lieutenant, Detective, please don’t take away my chance to save my marriage. If you tell JJ I had an affair with Trey, it’s over. He won’t forgive me for it. I only want the chance to fix things, to try to hold on to my marriage. I made a mistake—a stupid, selfish mistake—but right now what I did hurts no one but myself. If you tell JJ, it hurts him, and destroys the future we want to make together. Please.”