“You don’t think I did it,” Vivian said recklessly, trying to sound like she was certain.
“Of course not, Miss Kelly,” Hattie Wilson said. Vivian wanted to sigh with relief, but there was nothing reassuring about Hattie’s smile. “If I’ve learned anything about you during our strange acquaintance, it’s that you don’t have the stomach for that sort of messiness.”
“Thanks,” Vivian said dryly. They both knew it hadn’t really been meant as a compliment.
“But you know who does. Don’t you?” Hattie gave Vivian a pitying smile, then, as if the discussion was over, opened the portfolio in her lap, and started to look through its papers.
Vivian stared at her. “No,” she said. But her voice shook as she said it. They both knew who Hattie meant.
Mrs. Wilson picked up a pen as the car stopped, waiting to make a turn, and leisurely signed two papers before it started again. “You know who gained the most from his death—you heard them all arguing about it,” she said without looking at Vivian. “You know she has the stomach for it. And you know she’s ruthless enough to set up someone else to take the fall for her. Someone she knows has an unfortunate habit of ending up in the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone she—and I’ll admit, I’m speculating here, but I think I’m correct—has refused to help out?”
“No.” The word came out in a whisper, and Vivian struggled to make her voice louder. “No. She wouldn’t do that. Any of it. Not her father, and not…” The words got stuck again, and Vivian settled for shaking her head firmly while she glared at Hattie Wilson, who didn’t bother to look up. “Your mind’s twisted even to think of it.”
“Then why hide it from you?” Hattie asked, sounding too reasonable.Vivian wanted to press her hands against her ears to shut her out. “I’m doing you a favor here—another one, you may recall. Because it wasn’t your Ms. Huxley who helped you spy on Buchanan’s nearest and dearest, now, was it?”
“You only did that because you wanted me to find out about Honor,” Vivian snapped.
Hattie shrugged as she pulled out one paper, looked over it, and tucked it back into the portfolio. “Like I said, a favor. You can believe me or not, suit yourself. But you’ll be safer if you keep it in mind. Because it’s family that profits from his death. And he didn’t have any closer family than Honor Huxley.”
“You’re part of his family,” Vivian said, her voice sharp.
Hattie looked up from the stack of papers at last, leaning comfortably back against the seat of the car as she did. “I am. And?”
“If someone in that room wanted him dead, why not you?” Vivian asked. It was a stupid thing to say, sitting in the car of one of the most dangerous people she knew, being driven by a man twice her size who liked to use his fists. But she didn’t take back her words. “You’re far more likely to bump off a family member than Ms. Huxley.”
To her relief, Hattie looked amused more than offended. “Are you so sure about that?” she asked. “You should ask your Ms. Huxley about her late father. The answers might be…” Again that small laugh. “Illuminating. But in any case, no, I am not likely to have done in poor, dear Uncle Huxley.”
“And why is that?”
“In the first place, because I liked him.”
“That wouldn’t stop you.”
Hattie pursed her lips at the contradiction. “Not if I felt it was necessary, no,” she admitted. “But it would give me pause. In the second place, I’m not inclined to, as you put it, bump people off left and right. It lacks finesse.”
“And you do love finesse,” Vivian said, her fear lending an edge of sarcasm to her voice.
“I do,” Hattie agreed pleasantly. “Which brings us to the real reason you know I was not responsible for Huxley Buchanan’s death.” She leaned forward. “I’m sure you can tell me what it is, Miss Kelly.”
Vivian met Hattie’s gaze for as long as she could, which was not as long as she would have liked. She let out a breath and looked away. “Because it was sloppy.”
“It was very sloppy,” Hattie said, her voice soft and dangerous. “Which is something I never am. If it had been I who had my uncle killed, the police wouldn’t have even known it was a murder. There’d be no questions, no suspicions. Just him dead and me getting whatever I wanted.” She leaned back again, her red lips a smiling pout below the shadow of her veil. “Do you believe me?”
Vivian swallowed. “I do,” she whispered as the car slowed to a halt. “Are you saying you think Honor Huxley is sloppy?”
Hattie shrugged. “Not as a general rule, no. But people tend to have a lot of feelings about their parents. And feelings make things messy.” She smiled. “That’s why I do my best to avoid them.”
They stared at each other, listening to the sounds of Eddie stepping out, then coming around to open Vivian’s door. He held it for her, and Vivian slid across the seat to leave. But at the last moment she paused. “But I think one day, Mrs. Wilson, you will be sloppy. You’ll make a mistake, because as much as you want people to believe otherwise, you’re human just like the rest of us.” Her heart was thumping a warning that speaking to Hattie Wilson so bluntly was one of the stupider things she could be doing, but she still smiled as she spoke. “I wonder if I’ll be there to see it?”
Hattie’s jaw tightened, and for a moment Vivian thought she was struggling to control her temper. But she only nodded. “Perhaps you will,” she said softly. “What an interesting day that would be.” Looking bored, she turned back to her stack of papers. “It was a pleasure, as always, Miss Kelly. You’ll be hearing from me, don’t worry.” She smiled, though she didn’t look up. “I always collect on my favors.”
Eddie slammed the door behind Vivian as soon as she was standing on the pavement, and the sound made her jump in spite of her attempt to seem poised and unworried. He gave her a single up-and-down look, smirking, then sauntered back to the driver’s seat without a backward glance.
As she watched the car pull away, it suddenly struck Vivian that neither of them had asked her where she lived. And yet there she was, standing on the curb in front of her building.
She shivered. And then, because there was nothing else to do, she walked toward her door, resisting the urge to glance over her shoulder.
SIXTEEN
