detective nodded. “And you called 911?”
“Yes, sir. And Mr. Peter.” She shot a quick glance at Peter and her face crumpled again.
“It’s okay,” Peter soothed, patting her arm. “It’s not your fault. I was afraid something like this was going to happen.”
Detective Terry perked up. “Oh? Has something like this happened before?”
Peter pursed his mouth. “You mean Angela drunk? Only all the time. And she was a poor swimmer.”
Detective Terry told the maid that she could go. The woman looked to Peter for confirmation, and he nodded. “Go home, Miss Stanza. I’ll call you tomorrow.” When the woman left the room, Peter gestured to the tray. “Would you like some coffee, Detective?”
“No, thank you.” Then Detective Terry looked at Carlotta. “Ms. Wren, will you excuse us for a moment?”
Realizing that he was asking her to leave, she started to stand, but Peter’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“Stay,” he said, his voice beseeching, then he turned to the detective. “I have no secrets. Ask me anything.”
The detective looked back and forth between them until Carlotta averted her gaze. This was really beginning to feel…wrong.
“Okay,” Detective Terry said with a sigh. “Mr. Ashford, was your marriage in trouble?”
Next to her, she felt Peter stiffen. “No more so than any other marriage, I would suspect.”
Outside, the medical examiner and the police had stepped away from the body. Cooper unfolded a white sheet, whipped it open and allowed it to float down over Angela’s body. Carlotta stared until the woman’s face was completely obscured by the sheet. Wesley lowered what resembled a long plastic tray with scooped sides and black handles. With care that impressed her, Coop rolled the covered body toward him until Wesley had slid the tray underneath. Then he gently lowered the body and situated it onto the carrier. Both men tucked the sheet around the body with respectful concentration. She felt a swell of pride for Wesley, that he was handling such a terrible job with professionalism and obvious detail.
“Were the two of you discussing a divorce?”
The question yanked her attention back to the conversation.
“No,” Peter said defiantly.
Carlotta shifted in the uncomfortable chair, the memory of their kiss now even more sordid. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them, found Detective Terry studying her before he turned his attention back to Peter.
“Has your wife ever threatened to hurt herself?”
“No, of course not.” Peter’s expression darkened. “You’re not thinking that she did this on purpose.”
“Just covering all the bases, Mr. Ashford. Was she taking any medication?”
Peter rubbed his eyes and sighed. “Sure, it was always something with Angela. She had insomnia and back trouble, and she took a ton of vitamins. You can check the medicine cabinet in her bathroom if you want the specifics.”
Detective Terry cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should both go check, to see if Mrs. Ashford left a note.”
Peter’s jaw clenched. “There’s no note.”
“How can you be sure?”
Peter pulled his hand down over his faced and sighed. “Because…I asked Miss Stanza to look for a note when she called me. She didn’t find one.”
“So you suspected suicide?”
Peter lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “I didn’t know what to think, but it crossed my mind. You didn’t find one on…on her?”
“No. The guesthouse was also checked, plus the sedan in the garage—I assume that’s Mrs. Ashford’s car?”
“No, actually. Her Jag is at the dealership for regular maintenance. The sedan is a loaner.”
“Mr. Ashford, where were you when Miss Stanza called to give you the bad news?”
Peter’s mouth tightened. “If you must know, I was at a bar, Geary’s, not far from my office.”
“Where do you work?”
“Mashburn and Tully Investments. I’m a broker.”
Recognition flashed in the detective’s eyes and his gaze flicked to her, then back. He’d made the connection that her father had once been a partner there. A harmless yet suspicious coincidence.
“Were you alone at the bar, Mr. Ashford?”
“Yes. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Detective Terry shrugged his big shoulders. “I just wondered why I got here before you, that’s all.”
“There was construction on the connector,” Peter said hotly.
Warning bells sounded in Carlotta’s brain. Surely Detective Terry didn’t suspect that Peter had something to do with Angela’s death? She bit her lip, wondering whether to say that she’d seen Angela earlier that day and what her state of mind had been. But if she did, she’d have to admit that Angela thought that she and Peter were having an affair, and wouldn’t that only throw more suspicion on Peter?
She clamped her mouth shut, telling herself that she was doing the right thing. Angela’s death was just a tragic accident, a result of a bad vice and bad balance. She felt the detective’s gaze on her and decided that her presence might be doing more harm than good. She pushed to her feet. “Peter…it’s time for me to leave.” Her throat convulsed. “I’m…so sorry for your loss.”
“Before you go, Ms. Wren,” the detective said, holding up his hand, “I’d like to ask one more question.” Then he gave Peter a pointed look. “Were you, sir, having an affair?”
Carlotta’s pulse skipped and she forgot to breathe. Peter put his hands on the table, then slowly pushed to his feet. “No, Detective, I wasn’t having an affair. My wife’s death was an accident, pure and simple. I’d think that the police have enough on their plate without trying to turn this tragedy into a crime.”
Detective Terry closed his notebook, then looked contrite. “How right you are, Mr. Ashford. My sincere condolences.” Then he swung his gaze to her. “Ms. Wren, since I’m leaving, too, I’ll walk you out.”
She couldn’t think of anything less appealing, but since she couldn’t think of a way to refuse, she simply nodded. “Peter, call me if…I can help.”
He looked at her for a long while, then nodded. “Okay.”
Aware that the detective was hanging on their every word, she quickly walked to the door, slid it open and stepped outside. Detective Terry was on her heels. She retraced her steps down the stone path back to the front of the house where Wesley and Coop were closing the door on the back of the van.
“You
