probability. And Ashley, as you know, was certain that something sinister was going on—she believed Robin and Jamie were murdered.”
“Well, what do
you
think? I mean, this is your specialty, right?”
“Well, two things come to mind if we’re going to go down that road. Jamie and Robin had gotten very tight. Maybe they were involved in something that led to their deaths—and someone thought Ashley knew about it. She lived with Robin, after all, and had started telling people that she thought the two women had been murdered. The other thing to consider, of course, is that all three women were bridesmaids in your wedding. Tell me, do you remember anything strange happening that day?”
“Strange?” she said almost contentiously. “What do you mean by
that
? As far as I’m concerned, it was as close to a perfect day as anyone could imagine.”
“Peyton, I’m not trying to suggest anything disparaging about your wedding or reception. But Ashley wondered if Jamie—and perhaps Robin as well—may have witnessed something that day or overheard something she shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t have any details.”
“Well, there’s nothing
I’m
aware of,” she declared.
“Okay, then, how about this? Is there someone who resents you and your marriage to David? Who might be doing this as some symbolic act?”
She stared into the fire, not saying anything for a minute. Then she turned back to me, her face set in a look of conviction.
“David’s ex-wife, Mandy,” she announced. “I know this sounds horrible, but she could have done this. She hated the fact that he was divorcing her—and she despises me.”
“She lives around here?”
“Yes. She’s one of those women who live off their divorce settlements and spend their entire lives being gym bunnies. She still even uses the name Slavin, for God’s sake. And she and David have that kid, Lilly, who Mandy is always thrusting on us.”
“It’s something to consider. But for now we need to wait to hear what the police turned up in their investigation. If Ashley was pushed, there might be scuff marks on the landing.”
We talked for a few more minutes—mostly about her work, just to take our minds off everything else. She also managed to ask a few questions about
my
life. Eventually I felt fatigue grab hold of me and announced that I needed to turn in. Leaving our dishes for the housekeeper, Peyton gave me a quick tour of the ground floor. The living room was a mammoth space, with three or four seating arrangements, all done in creams and brocades, the walls boasting breathtaking landscape paintings. I was also given a peek at a large formal dining room, with walls covered in a bird-covered chinoiserie, a billiards room, a media room with a huge plasma screen in the wall, and a sunroom or conservatory filled with bamboo. The last time I’d seen this many different rooms in one house, I’d been playing Clue. If I hadn’t been wrestling with so many other emotions, I might have felt engulfed with envy.
Once I was tucked in bed, I tried to put off going to sleep for a while longer. Ever since my divorce a couple of years ago I’d been dogged by insomnia, and I had a nasty feeling that it was going to rear its head tonight. I leafed through the latest issue of
Gloss
, which I’d crammed in my tote bag. There was a story on readers’ most embarrassing beauty questions, including “I Have Dark Patches on my Inner Thighs—Help” and “How Do I Prevent Hump Hair?” Hump hair turned out to be that thick matt of hair that develops after you’ve shagged someone for seven hours straight. God, if only that was all I was contending with tonight, instead of worrying about whether someone was killing off Peyton’s bridesmaids—with me possibly next. Just as I felt my eyes growing heavy, I heard someone yell from another part of the house.
My heart leapt like an antelope, but I lay as still as I could, trying to hear. Someone was
“Well, what do
you
think? I mean, this is your specialty, right?”
“Well, two things come to mind if we’re going to go down that road. Jamie and Robin had gotten very tight. Maybe they were involved in something that led to their deaths—and someone thought Ashley knew about it. She lived with Robin, after all, and had started telling people that she thought the two women had been murdered. The other thing to consider, of course, is that all three women were bridesmaids in your wedding. Tell me, do you remember anything strange happening that day?”
“Strange?” she said almost contentiously. “What do you mean by
that
? As far as I’m concerned, it was as close to a perfect day as anyone could imagine.”
“Peyton, I’m not trying to suggest anything disparaging about your wedding or reception. But Ashley wondered if Jamie—and perhaps Robin as well—may have witnessed something that day or overheard something she shouldn’t have.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t have any details.”
“Well, there’s nothing
I’m
aware of,” she declared.
“Okay, then, how about this? Is there someone who resents you and your marriage to David? Who might be doing this as some symbolic act?”
She stared into the fire, not saying anything for a minute. Then she turned back to me, her face set in a look of conviction.
“David’s ex-wife, Mandy,” she announced. “I know this sounds horrible, but she could have done this. She hated the fact that he was divorcing her—and she despises me.”
“She lives around here?”
“Yes. She’s one of those women who live off their divorce settlements and spend their entire lives being gym bunnies. She still even uses the name Slavin, for God’s sake. And she and David have that kid, Lilly, who Mandy is always thrusting on us.”
“It’s something to consider. But for now we need to wait to hear what the police turned up in their investigation. If Ashley was pushed, there might be scuff marks on the landing.”
We talked for a few more minutes—mostly about her work, just to take our minds off everything else. She also managed to ask a few questions about
my
life. Eventually I felt fatigue grab hold of me and announced that I needed to turn in. Leaving our dishes for the housekeeper, Peyton gave me a quick tour of the ground floor. The living room was a mammoth space, with three or four seating arrangements, all done in creams and brocades, the walls boasting breathtaking landscape paintings. I was also given a peek at a large formal dining room, with walls covered in a bird-covered chinoiserie, a billiards room, a media room with a huge plasma screen in the wall, and a sunroom or conservatory filled with bamboo. The last time I’d seen this many different rooms in one house, I’d been playing Clue. If I hadn’t been wrestling with so many other emotions, I might have felt engulfed with envy.
Once I was tucked in bed, I tried to put off going to sleep for a while longer. Ever since my divorce a couple of years ago I’d been dogged by insomnia, and I had a nasty feeling that it was going to rear its head tonight. I leafed through the latest issue of
Gloss
, which I’d crammed in my tote bag. There was a story on readers’ most embarrassing beauty questions, including “I Have Dark Patches on my Inner Thighs—Help” and “How Do I Prevent Hump Hair?” Hump hair turned out to be that thick matt of hair that develops after you’ve shagged someone for seven hours straight. God, if only that was all I was contending with tonight, instead of worrying about whether someone was killing off Peyton’s bridesmaids—with me possibly next. Just as I felt my eyes growing heavy, I heard someone yell from another part of the house.
My heart leapt like an antelope, but I lay as still as I could, trying to hear. Someone was
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