Cuff Me(23)

“Well except for Clayton Wallace,” Dorothy said as she pulled a delicate macaroon off a china plate and took a tiny nibble.

“Clayton Wallace?” Vin asked.

“Her third husband,” Jill said.

She’d done her homework last night when she couldn’t sleep.

“And he was different from the others?” Vincent prompted, the impatience in his voice seeping through as it always did.

Dorothy carefully wiped her fingers on a cloth napkin. “Only in that he was the only man who ever dumped Lenora.”

Jill leaned forward. “Why?”

Perhaps Lenora had cheated, or there’d been some sort of scandal. Perhaps one that Clayton Wallace hadn’t let go of, even after fifteen years…

Dorothy lifted one slim shoulder. “He was gay, of course. He and Lenora remained the best of friends, though. I believe he’s living in California now.”

Jill had to stop herself from slumping. A gay ex-husband with whom the victim was “the best of friends” was not exactly a prime suspect.

Vincent came around to the two women then and sat down beside Jill.

They weren’t touching… not quite. But suddenly Jill was distracted, because he smelled… like soap.

Not fancy cologne, no expensive aftershave.

Vincent Moretti smelled like soap, and it was… nice.

Had he always smelled like this? Maybe he’d gotten new soap. Maybe…

“Detective?”

Vincent was staring at her in confusion, and too late Jill realized that she was all but leaning into him. And judging from the expectant look on both of their faces, a question had been directed at her and Jill had missed it because she’d been too busy—

“Sorry, what?” she asked.

Vincent’s gaze dropped to her mouth for a single moment before his dark eyes lifted back to hers. “Ms. Birch asked if you’d care for more tea?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes. I’d love some.”

He lifted an eyebrow and flicked his eyes to her cup. It was nearly full.

She ignored this—and him—as she extended her cup and saucer to Dorothy, who politely didn’t comment on Jill’s full cup as she added just the tiniest splash from the pot.

“Yesterday you said that my sister had fallen—was likely pushed,” Dorothy was saying, her voice remarkably steady.

“Yes, ma’am,” Vincent said.

“And there was no chance it could have been an accident?”

“We don’t think so,” Jill said quietly. “The height of the railing… it would have taken some force—”

She broke off, not wanting to go into more details than she had to about this woman’s sister’s death.

Vin leaned forward. “Of course, we can’t officially rule it a homicide until we rule out suicide—”

Dorothy gave a delicate, feminine snort. “Don’t be ridiculous. Lenora was far too fond of herself to take her own life. And even if she had, she wouldn’t have done so in such a messy manner.”

Dorothy Birch’s words echoed Jill’s from yesterday. She resisted the urge to kick Vincent and mutter, I told you so.

The older woman sighed and set her cup aside. “I suppose you’re here because you want to know if I have any ideas on who might have done it.”

“Yes,” Jill said quickly before Vincent could inform Dorothy that they were actually here to see if she might have done it.

“Well, I have no idea,” Dorothy said.

Jill didn’t even bother to sigh. It was about what she’d expected.

“But if I were to hazard a guess…” Dorothy continued.

Jill and Vincent sat up straighter.

“… I’d start with Malcolm Torres.”

“Her second husband,” Jill said, mostly for Vin’s sake.

“Yes,” Dorothy said, taking a sip of her tea.

“Why him?” Vincent asked.

“Because of the death threats, of course.”

Vin and Jill turned to stare at each other. Of course.





CHAPTER TEN


Vincent spotted his two brothers the moment he walked into the completely generic sports bar.

Both Luc and Anthony were already halfway through their beers, so they’d obviously been here awhile, despite the fact that Vin had arrived five minutes earlier than when Anthony had told him to show up.

The fact that they were deep in conversation confirmed Vin’s fears: they were talking about him.

This was confirmed when they ended their conversation the moment they saw him approach.

“Having a nice gossip session, girls?” he asked, dropping onto the stool across from them.

Neither had the decency to look the least bit apologetic.

Anthony glanced over at the bartender, signaled another round.

Vincent shrugged off his leather jacket as they moved to a table, and set it on an empty seat. “Tell me again why we’re grabbing beers at this crap hole when we’re supposed to be at Elena’s in”—he glanced at his watch—“twenty-five minutes?”

Anth jerked his head in Luc’s direction. “Ava tipped Luc off that Elena has been experimenting with a signature cocktail.”

“Ah,” Vin said. “Say no more.”