Her response to Montgomery’s question surprised Matt. He’d fully expected her to tell his boss that she’d gotten the information from him.
He smiled to himself. Still full of surprises, aren’t you, Natalie?
For a moment, Luke said nothing, as if debating just how much he was willing to admit to. He might be flamboyant when out in public, but there was a part of him that was exceedingly private. The irony of wanting privacy and running a business in a town like this was not lost on him.
But, he decided, stubbornly refusing to answer Rothchild’s question would be more trouble than it was worth.
“Your sister thought we could pick up where we left off. We couldn’t,” he ended simply. “That didn’t make her very happy.” It was an understatement, and they all knew it. Candace had been a drama queen from way back. “Neither did my telling her that she was taking the spotlight away from a very worthwhile charity, and I wasn’t going to allow it.”
Natalie nodded. Even though she hated to admit it, that sort of thing sounded exactly like something Candace would try to do—upstage a charity event. Sadly, her sister was that shallow.
“That sounds like Candace,” she acknowledged with a sigh.
Montgomery rose from his desk, giving every indication that he intended to walk Natalie to the door. “So, are we done?” he demanded.
Natalie remained where she was. “Just one more question, Luke—you don’t mind if I call you Luke, do you?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but continued talking. “Where were you last night from the hours of eleven to three?”
The look in his eyes told her he really resented having to account for himself. When he answered, it was through clenched teeth. “The first part I was at the gala. Hundreds of people can vouch for that,” he added crisply.
“And the second part of that time frame?” she prodded.
Luke’s eyes darkened. “None of your business.”
Oh, but it was, she thought. She felt Matt move closer to her. Was he going to back her up or draw her away? She didn’t wait to find out. “This isn’t for some blog, Luke. I’m asking as a homicide detective. Where did you go after you left the gala?”
Montgomery took offense at her line of questioning. “Then I am under suspicion?”
His voice had risen. She was determined to keep hers level. “Everyone is under suspicion until their alibi is checked out,” she said.
And then, just like that, Montgomery relented. His voice became almost mild. “I was with a lady in her hotel room.”
That was going to have to be verified, and they both knew it. “I’m assuming this ‘lady’ has a name.” She waited for him to give it to her.
Montgomery shrugged. “Most likely. I don’t happen to remember it.”
Was he deliberately being vague—or was he lying? In either case, Natalie shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “Not good enough.”
“But I do remember the room number,” Montgomery added after a beat.
It seemed to Natalie that he was intentionally playing some sort of a game, wording this so that she was led to assume that he might have had something to do with Candace’s murder. The possibility had occurred to her. After all, it was no secret that Montgomery and her father were less than friendly rivals. She’d heard her father rant about the other man more than once, complaining bitterly that the latter was encroaching on territory that should have been his. It seemed as if the Rothchild fortunes were taking a downturn just as Montgomery’s were on the upswing.
“Good,” she ground out when he didn’t immediately volunteer the number. “What was it?”
“Room 1312. Oh,” he added innocently, “and she said something about having to get back to the East Coast by this evening so I’d hurry getting up there if you want to catch her to back up my ‘alibi.’” Montgomery tossed the term at her with a smug satisfaction that told her he was either way overconfident—or he wasn’t guilty of anything more than being arrogant.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she responded.
Natalie kept a poker face despite the wave of acute disappointment. It would have been gratifying to lay Candace’s murder at Montgomery’s doorstep. But that would have been far too easy, and she knew from experience that ninety-five percent of the time, the easy route never led to the right conclusion.
“Okay, I don’t need you anymore,” Natalie told Matt the moment they hit the lobby. She was striding toward the elevator banks. “You can go back to whatever it was you were doing.”
He’d been a reluctant participant, but now that he was with her, Matt felt an even greater reluctance to pull away. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick around a little longer. You might find you need me.”
“Not in a million years,” she said a tad too vehemently.
Matt pretended not to hear. What he did hear, as they hurried past the front desk, was the tall, statuesque woman say that she was checking out of her room. 1312.
Catching hold of Natalie’s arm, he pulled her back.
“What do you think you’re—?” she demanded.
He merely pointed toward the front desk. “That’s room 1312,” he told her.
The woman who was Luke Montgomery’s alibi looked vaguely familiar to Natalie. She made the connection when introductions were made. Her name was Erikka Hanson, and she was a model of some moderate fame, on her way back East for a swimsuit shoot.
A genuine redhead, Erikka was a full head taller than Natalie with a complexion that filled dermatologists with envy. Candace, Natalie judged, would have scratched her eyes out, had it come down to a tug of war for Montgomery. Her sister passionately resented any woman who was prettier than she was, and this model was in a class all by herself.
As she introduced herself, Natalie had her ID out to confirm her identity.
“I’m sorry to bother you Ms. Hanson, but I’m investigating a homicide. I need to ask you a couple of questions.” She slipped her wallet back into her pocket. The model, she noticed, was busy checking out Matt.
Not exactly a one-man woman, are you? she mused.
“What kind of questions?” Erikka wanted to know.
“Was Luke Montgomery with you in your room last night after the gala?” Natalie asked bluntly.
If the model found the question invasive, she gave no indication. On the contrary, a wide smile curved her more than generous mouth.
“He most certainly was.” Each word vibrated with enthusiasm. Montgomery, Natalie concluded, had to be good in bed. No wonder Candace had been put out when the casino mogul didn’t want to rekindle their affair.
“What time was he there?” Natalie asked. She had deliberately refrained from mentioning which hours needed verifying.
“The
