The woman—Kim—seemed to glow under Melanie’s praise. Interesting.Always follow your instincts, Sheriff Forbes had told him. His instincts were telling him that something was not right in this house. What was it Melanie had said about her husband?
“As you wish. I’ll make a note that you declined to speak privately.”
“Whatever.” Melanie tipped her wine glass toward her mouth, clearly realized it was empty and headed to the massive subzero refrigerator. No doubt for a refill.
He could not stomach watching her drink herself into a stupor. That was no way to conduct an investigation. “Mrs. Templeton, could you please tell me your relationship with Patrick O’Leary?”
She startled, but he would have missed it if she hadn’t spilled the wine she was pouring. “Patrick?” She mopped up the spill with a brisk twist of a hand towel. “He teaches our Zumba class sometimes. Kim and I go to the same Zumba class.”
John would wager the cost of his wedding that Kim did more than share the Zumba class with Melanie.
“Have you ever met Mr. O’Leary outside the class?”
“Once or twice. I think we ran into him downtown, and then of course we saw him at the party last Saturday.” She was being careful with her words, clipping each one, as only a day drunk can when trying to appear soberer.
“Did anything happen Saturday night?”
A shadow passed briefly over Melanie’s face. Kim watched the proceedings from her bar stool, a carefully schooled blandlook on her face. She swirled the wine in her glass but didn’t drink.
John made another mental note.
“Not really,” Melanie finally replied. “We went. There were too many women. I danced a couple of times, but it was boring. So we left to find something more fun to do.”
“Do you recall what time you left?”
“No. A watch didn’t really match my outfit.”
“You would have had your phone with you. Didn’t you need to text or call anyone that you were leaving the Saturday night party early?”
Melanie’s eyes narrowed in an attempt at looking seductive. “There wasn’t anyone I really needed to tell.”
“Did you attend the party with anyone else?”
“Just Kim.” Melanie yawned and examined her expensive French manicure.
“What did the two of you do after you left the party?”
“We came back here. Had a few glasses of wine, gossiped, watched TV.” She gestured vaguely with one bejeweled hand. Katie would have killed for a diamond like that. “Not my best Saturday night, for sure.”
“Where were you last Thursday?”
Melanie set her wine glass down hard on the marble island, the ring of the glass sharp and trilling. “I don’t remember. Was that the night after the snowstorm?”
“Yeah,” Kim interjected. Her voice grated, mouselike and affected. “There was a huge storm Wednesday night. I remember Melanie telling me how she couldn’t even get out of her driveway.”
Melanie shot Kim a cutting look, but because she was more than a little tipsy, it came off looking like a caricature.
One more sip of wine and this woman would not be able to hold the conversation. He turned to Kim. “And Miss Smith? What is your relationship with Mr. O’Leary?”
She rearranged her features into studied nonchalance. “Same as Melanie. We’re acquaintances, I suppose.” She took a sip of wine. At last. “And before you ask, I was snowbound last Thursday. They couldn’t clear my driveway for ages.”
“And where do you live?”
She had nondescript features, neither pretty nor plain, though she had clearly been shopping through Melanie’s castoffs. “Not far from here. Just a short drive down a country lane.”
“Are you from this area?”
Melanie drunkenly slapped the marble island, missed, and hit her thigh. “I thought you came here to speak to me.”
