news. Or perhaps I was overreacting. After all, it hadn't been the most relaxed twenty-four hours in my life. So where the hell was the cream cashmere outfit Lindsay had worn the previous day and evening?
I sure as hell hoped it turned up. In the meantime, Lindsay had been through plenty already. I didn't plan to mention the tunic and pants. And if someone tipped the police that Lindsay's leather boots were sitting in a salty puddle by the front door, it damn well wouldn't be me.
She was a victim. In my book, she needed protection, not persecution. So I'd have to find out what happened to that tunic before some snoopy cop did. But of course, they had their hands full with Elaine.
* * *
“Thirty-two messages saved for you on the Justice for Victims voice mail,” Alvin said.
“Great.”
“You might want to listen to them.”
“We have enough on our plate here, Alvin. I'll listen to them when I get back to the office.”
“Let me suggest…”
“No, Alvin, let me suggest I'll get to them in my own sweet time. Just because you can phone in and get messages doesn't mean you have to. I'm not a slave to this goddam technology.”
Alvin shrugged. “Your choice, Camilla.”
“Yes, it is.” Everything always had to be an argument with that boy.
“There's something you should know.”
“Put a sock in it.”
“No problemo.” Alvin leapt out of his chair in Lindsay's kitchen and headed into the living room. Merv sipped his coffee and watched his retreating back. Alvin's bony shoulders were held high. I'd be paying for that “put a sock in it” remark, but I held my ground. Maybe sleeping on the living room floor and facing that particular sock at the crack of dawn had brought out the worst in me.
“Why the hell doesn't the little jerk get his mangy butt over to your office and open it up?” Merv said.
“We're off to a slow start today. It can wait. In case you didn't notice.”
“You never gonna get rid of that guy?”
“Give me time. At the moment, I have a full agenda.”
“Yeah, yeah, maybe you should show a little spine, Camilla.”
I put my own coffee cup on the table and stood up. “I'd better go up and talk to Lindsay.”
“She's asleep.”
“Well, time for her to wake up.”
* * *
She raised her head and opened her eyes.
“Be straight with me, Lindsay,” I said. “I have a question and I want you to tell me the truth.”
“Of course. Why wouldn't I tell you the truth?”
“Where are the clothes you wore last night.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Your long cream sweater. The one you wore yesterday.”
She puckered her forehead. “Well, it's in the hamper.”
“No.”
“But it must be.”
“Listen to me. It. Is. Not.”
“Perhaps I hung it up.” Her hands clenched and unclenched.
I shook my head.
“Oh. I guess I must have tossed it somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don't know. I'd have to look.”
“I've already looked.”
“Maybe I hung something on top of it. Maybe it slipped behind a chair.”
I glanced around. “Somehow I don't see you tossing things.
Or letting your cashmere sweaters slip onto the floor.”
“Not usually. But this isn't usually.”
“So where's the sweater?”
She met my eyes. “What difference does it make?”
“What difference? Because Ralph Benning was murdered. Because you had a damn good reason to want him dead. Because we all fell asleep and you could have left the house. Because Elaine Ekstein will be charged with his murder. And because.…”
“Elaine?”
“That sweater is not in this house. It is nowhere. Ditto the leggings.”
“Elaine couldn't murder anyone.”
“True.”
“How could she be charged?”
“Easy. The police think she could have done it.”
“But that's silly. Elaine? What an idea.”
“Where's the sweater, Lindsay.”
She raised her elegant chin. “I don't know where it is.”
“Did you leave the house last night?”
“Of course not.”
I spotted the little flash of anger behind her words. Interesting. Anger was a change from Lindsay's usual grace and fragility. Maybe I'd been treated to a glimpse of the real person. “Then where's your sweater?”
Merv loomed into the room and stood between Lindsay and me. “She's already told you she doesn't know.”
“Thank you, but I'm not finished here.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Goddam it, Merv, let go of my arm.”
I found myself staring at the closed door of Lindsay's bedroom. Of course, it takes more than that to stop one of the MacPhee girls. I turned the handle. Locked. I rattled the handle. Nothing.
I knocked on the door. Still nothing. I poised to give it a nice solid kick when I felt Alvin's hot breath.
“I can't believe even you would do this, Camilla.” Reproach oozed out of his pores.
“Do you believe Elaine will spend the night in the slammer?”
“No, she won't. And even if she did, Elaine's tough as old rope. There's no reason for you to terrorize Lindsay.”
“Terrorize?
