me an example?”
But just then Lara interrupted by putting her head into the room to say that tea was ready. Florence nodded, and the blonde entered with a small tray bearing three cups, saucers, a china pot and nothing else. I was disappointed. I’d hoped for something to eat, even a few cookies would have been pleasant.
“We’re almost done,” I told Lara. “Ms. McKinley, I don’t like to distress you, but is there any chance Mr. Niven told you he’d be working this weekend so that he could meet someone else?”
She raised her cup and sipped. “By someone else, you’re implying that there might be another woman?”
“Yes.”
“It may be true.” Her lips curved downward in a sour frown. “Over the past few months, Eddie canceled several dates with me.” She stared into her cup as if reading secrets in the leaves. “And now you know what we quarreled about.”
“Assuming there is another woman involved, have you any idea who it might be?”
She exchanged a glance with Lara before saying she wasn’t sure. That annoyed me, but I made a note to ask Lara later. “All right,” I continued, “you told Lara you think someone is trying to make it look like you were responsible for Mr. Niven’s death. Is that person the woman you have in mind?”
“I didn’t say I had anyone particular in mind.”
“You’re fencing with me. Is the reason you won’t name her because she’s also an actress on ‘Riverday’?”
I got another noncommittal answer. My temper was rising. It was almost ten o’clock, I was hungry and tired and still had a two-hour trip home.
“Look,” I complained, “you’re holding back information wholesale. If you don’t trust me enough to speak, your mind freely, there’s no point in continuing. I can’t accept you as my client unless—”
“At this stage,” she broke in, “I neither trust nor distrust you. You’re here on your lady’s recommendation. I am not your client till I say so...you haven’t even told me yet what you charge!” She emphasized the last word with a smart tap on my knee with her forefinger.
I put down my cup and rose to my feet. But my eyes connected with Lara’s and her mute “please” stopped me from walking out. Ah, damn, I thought, if I could put up with Hilary treating me like chattel (as I had for several years), I supposed I could tolerate a bit more of the same for her cousin’s sake.
“Okay,” I told McKinley, swallowing my indignation, my pride and my tea, “will you at least tell me why you think you are a target?” I sat down again.
“Yes.” Though there were just the three of us in the apartment, she lowered her voice to a melodramatic whisper. “This morning, I found something in my dressing room.”
“What?”
“A pile of Eddie’s clothing.”
Not good. I asked her to reconstruct the moment. She closed her eyes and re-created it in her mind. As she did, her fingers trailed along her cheek in concentration. “A quarter past six. The door was slightly ajar. That bothered me immediately, I always keep it locked. I pushed it open, switched on the light. First thing I saw was a pair of men’s shoes under my makeup table. I checked the label. 7½ triple Es.”
“Niven’s size?”
“Yes. He used to complain how hard it was to find stylish shoes that fit.”
“What did you do when you found them?”
“I had a bad feeling about it. I started opening dresser drawers and, sure enough, stuck in the back of one was a bloody shirt of his that I recognized, along with trousers, socks and underwear, all crumpled up.”
“Did you show the clothing to the police?”
“No. I got rid of them.”
“You did what? ”
Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t bark at me. I was frightened. I knew I had no alibi for Saturday. I didn’t want the police to find the clothes in my room.”
“How did you get rid of them?”
It’s not important.”
It took all the reserve I had not to call her a string of names. Instead, I
But just then Lara interrupted by putting her head into the room to say that tea was ready. Florence nodded, and the blonde entered with a small tray bearing three cups, saucers, a china pot and nothing else. I was disappointed. I’d hoped for something to eat, even a few cookies would have been pleasant.
“We’re almost done,” I told Lara. “Ms. McKinley, I don’t like to distress you, but is there any chance Mr. Niven told you he’d be working this weekend so that he could meet someone else?”
She raised her cup and sipped. “By someone else, you’re implying that there might be another woman?”
“Yes.”
“It may be true.” Her lips curved downward in a sour frown. “Over the past few months, Eddie canceled several dates with me.” She stared into her cup as if reading secrets in the leaves. “And now you know what we quarreled about.”
“Assuming there is another woman involved, have you any idea who it might be?”
She exchanged a glance with Lara before saying she wasn’t sure. That annoyed me, but I made a note to ask Lara later. “All right,” I continued, “you told Lara you think someone is trying to make it look like you were responsible for Mr. Niven’s death. Is that person the woman you have in mind?”
“I didn’t say I had anyone particular in mind.”
“You’re fencing with me. Is the reason you won’t name her because she’s also an actress on ‘Riverday’?”
I got another noncommittal answer. My temper was rising. It was almost ten o’clock, I was hungry and tired and still had a two-hour trip home.
“Look,” I complained, “you’re holding back information wholesale. If you don’t trust me enough to speak, your mind freely, there’s no point in continuing. I can’t accept you as my client unless—”
“At this stage,” she broke in, “I neither trust nor distrust you. You’re here on your lady’s recommendation. I am not your client till I say so...you haven’t even told me yet what you charge!” She emphasized the last word with a smart tap on my knee with her forefinger.
I put down my cup and rose to my feet. But my eyes connected with Lara’s and her mute “please” stopped me from walking out. Ah, damn, I thought, if I could put up with Hilary treating me like chattel (as I had for several years), I supposed I could tolerate a bit more of the same for her cousin’s sake.
“Okay,” I told McKinley, swallowing my indignation, my pride and my tea, “will you at least tell me why you think you are a target?” I sat down again.
“Yes.” Though there were just the three of us in the apartment, she lowered her voice to a melodramatic whisper. “This morning, I found something in my dressing room.”
“What?”
“A pile of Eddie’s clothing.”
Not good. I asked her to reconstruct the moment. She closed her eyes and re-created it in her mind. As she did, her fingers trailed along her cheek in concentration. “A quarter past six. The door was slightly ajar. That bothered me immediately, I always keep it locked. I pushed it open, switched on the light. First thing I saw was a pair of men’s shoes under my makeup table. I checked the label. 7½ triple Es.”
“Niven’s size?”
“Yes. He used to complain how hard it was to find stylish shoes that fit.”
“What did you do when you found them?”
“I had a bad feeling about it. I started opening dresser drawers and, sure enough, stuck in the back of one was a bloody shirt of his that I recognized, along with trousers, socks and underwear, all crumpled up.”
“Did you show the clothing to the police?”
“No. I got rid of them.”
“You did what? ”
Her eyes snapped open. “Don’t bark at me. I was frightened. I knew I had no alibi for Saturday. I didn’t want the police to find the clothes in my room.”
“How did you get rid of them?”
It’s not important.”
It took all the reserve I had not to call her a string of names. Instead, I
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