“Yes. He prefers his office to”—she pulled a Vanna White, motioning down her own body like it was a brand new car—“this.”
“Did he let you know he wasn’t comin’ home?”
She slowly pushed to her feet, balancing on those stilts, then stepped toward him, her gaze appreciative as it ran down his full length and then back up. “He did not. We don’t have that sort of marriage.”
“What sortdoyou have?”
“The open kind,” she said, her smile widening as she stepped even closer.
The lawyer had the decency to clear his throat, something the statuesque blonde ignored.
“Do you know if he’s seein’ someone else?”
“Many someones, I’m sure.” Her smile widened and her eyelashes fluttered. “That’s why they call it an open marriage.”
Reese took a step back, hoping to get some fresh air rather than continuing to inhale the toxic fumes she called perfume.
“Has your husband received any threats recently?”
The question seemed to surprise her because she took a step back, and suddenly her throat had dried up along with her words.
“My client has already provided all she knows to the police,” Peter stated. “I’m sure they’ve got a record of her statement.”
“Actually,” Reese raised his voice slightly, “the statement they have on file is you sayin’ she has nothin’ to say. Perhaps we should have her go down to the station so we can do this legit and on record.”
His eyes narrowed, but before he could say something stupid, Reese directed his next question at the wife. “Did you know the other partners well?”
“Of course she did,” Peter stated, stepping forward and blocking Mrs. Hawkins from view. “They were in business with her husband.” He motioned toward the door. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, my client needs time to grieve.”
Reese’s eyebrows locked down as he pinned his gaze on the lawyer’s face. “Grieve what? As far as we know, her husband’s missin’, not dead. Or does she know somethin’ we don’t?”
“Please see yourself out, Detective.”
Reese didn’t bother clarifying that he wasn’t a detective. He knew when to back off and now was certainly the time.
Without another word, he walked out of the house, giving the butler a quick scan on the way. Perhaps they should try talking to the staff. Maybe they had some insight into what the hell was going on here.
“Anything?” Brantley asked when Reese joined him at the truck.
“Mrs. Hawkins needs time to grieve,” he relayed. “The lawyer’s words.”
Brantley’s gaze swung back to the house. “She’s hidin’ something.”
Yes, she most certainly was.
“I’d like to talk to the wives of the partners,” Reese told him.
“Great minds,” Brantley stated. “I’ve got addresses.”
Chapter Nine
Baz let Allison lead the charge withthe investment company. Not necessarily because he wanted to, but Allison seemed determined to be in front, and the last thing he needed was a public confrontation when they were hoping to identify people who would willingly open up to them.
He had worked with aggressive go-getters before, both men and women. But there was something about Allison that set his nerves on edge. Baz figured it was better to observe than get in the way.
At least for now.
“Mr. Alexander, could you please tell us when the last time you spoke to Mr. Hawkins was?” Allison prompted.
