“Now, here’s where it gets weirder,” continued Shaw. “Even if scorpions were native to Connecticut—which, of course, they’re not—the coroner’s report showed no signs of an entry wound. No lesion, no redness, no visible sting.”
The thin cord of Thomas’s patience snapped. “What are you, the police?”
“Excuseme?” Shaw glanced over at him in surprise. “Why do I get the sense that wasn’t a direct translation?”
“Because it wasn’t,” said Thomas. “It was all me.”
“Do you have something to say?”
“I do. You need to back off. You’re upsetting her.”
“Sheshouldbe upset,” said Shaw. “According to the evidence I’ve gathered, there’s very good reason to believe her boyfriend—”
“He wasn’t her boyfriend,” said Thomas without thinking.
“—was poisoned,” Shaw finished. Folding his arms over his chest, he sized Thomas up as though seeing him anew. “How long have you been working with Miss Farrow?”
Thomas could feel Vivienne’s eyes boring a hole into the side of his face.
“Since June,” he said coldly.
“Interesting.” Shaw jotted down another notation. “And do you understand the implication here? We’re not dealing with some ill-timed act of God. This was a murder.”
“Amurder?” Thomas laughed. “That’s insane.”
“You think so? I’m not so sure.” Shaw jabbed a finger into his notepad. “There’s a story here. A goddamned good one. And from the looks of it, my exclusive just got a little more interesting.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that jealousy makes for an excellent motive.”
Thomas bristled. “Where the f—”
Without warning, Vivienne flew to her feet. Her elbow clipped a shining brass astrolabe on the end table, bringing it crashing to the floor. The tumult brought all the focus in her direction. Beneath the watery moonlight, she looked radiant with fury, her fingers flying.
Tell him we need a minute.
“What for?”
Tell him.
Thomas blew out a quelling breath. “We need a minute.”
“Take all the time you need,” said Shaw, who’d fallen back to jotting down notes on his infernal pad. “I’m sure you need some time to corroborate your stories. When you get back, I’d love to hear what it was you were doing the afternoon of July thirteenth.”
Thomas opened his mouth to reply, but Vivienne silenced him with a touch, seizing him by the lapels and towing him backward toward the exit. She didn’t release her hold on him until they were well out of earshot, the library doors falling shut behind them with two dull thuds. They stood alone in a well-lit hall, the wainscoting dotted with floppy plants and oversize vases.
“You don’t have to put up with that asshole,” he said at the same time she signed,I want you to leave.
He paused midway through flattening his collar. “What? Why?”
You’re supposed to interpret what I say, as I say it.
“Well, I would, if you’d say anything—”
What you’re doing is u-n-e-t-h-i-c-a-l.
“Unethical?” His laugh came out garroted.“Unethical?”
