DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS (7 page)

His gaze drifted downward to the neckline of the robe. It took all her willpower not to look down. But she couldn’t stop her face from heating up. She knew she was blushing.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, studying her face. “You said you got over twelve hours of sleep. You obviously showered, by the look of your hair.”

She shot her fingers through her damp hair, smoothing it as well as she could.

“Is that—” he inclined his head toward her hair “—going to keep you from getting dressed and down to the station by ten?” He didn’t take his eyes off her, just stood there, waiting for her to answer.

“No,” she said through gritted teeth. “Of course I can be there by ten, if that’s what I have to do.”

“Great,” he said. “I’d appreciate it.” He turned back to the coffeepot, watching it drip. After a couple of moments, he looked back at her. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Shouldn’t I—” Laney drew a deep breath. Although the vestiges of the dream in which Ethan heroically saved her from the black-clad monster in the hotel room still lingered, she couldn’t remember for the life of her what had made her think that it would be romantic to be rescued by him. He was arrogant, impatient and rude. In fact, she was sure if he had the occasion to rescue her, she’d never hear the end of it. She cleared her throat. “I thought I’d have a cup of coffee first,” she said coldly.

“Okay,” he said. “Good idea. Where are your mugs?”

“Here,” she said, pulling one from the cabinet and edging past him to pour it full of coffee. She turned and handed the steaming mug to him. “Please,” she said with a smile. “Keep it. Drink the coffee on your way to work.”

He looked at her in mild surprise, gave her that same little smile he’d shown her earlier, lifted the cup in a coffee salute, then turned on his heel and left her house, stopping to salute her one more time at the front door.

Laney poured herself a mug of coffee, although what she wanted to do was slide back down under the warm covers and go to sleep again. She knew, however, that by the time she did something with her hair, dressed and drove to the police station, she’d be lucky if it wasn’t after ten.

She headed to her bedroom to put on underwear and clothes, but first, before she took off the terry cloth robe, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Had Ethan known that she had no clothes on under her robe? She’d thought the thick cotton was the best thing to cover her, but now, trying to see what he’d seen, she realized with embarrassment that a fluffy white bath robe and wet hair said nothing so much as
I’m just out of the shower and didn’t bother to dress.

* * *

B
UDDY
D
AVIS
,
FOUNDER
and pastor of the Silver Circle Church on the North Shore of Lake Pontchartrain and owner of the Silver Circle Broadcasting Network and Circle of Faith Ministries, sat in the interview room with his wife and business partner, Benita. The two of them had their heads together and Benita seemed to be doing most of the talking.

Ethan watched them through the two-way mirror in the viewing room. Maria Farrantino stood at his side.

“You sent me out there to get them on purpose, didn’t you?” she asked.

“What? Me?” Ethan said innocently. “Nah. I’d have gone yesterday, but they were up in Jackson. Thanks, by the way, for bringing them in.”

“He practically groped me, right there in front of his wife. And she acted like I was coming on to
him.
”

“He does have that reputation. Remember when that female deacon in his ministry accused him of sexual harassment?”

“
You’ll
be accused of sexual harassment if you do anything like that again.”

“I apologize for his actions, Farrantino, but you know you’re going to have to take them home, too. I’ll call you when they’re done.”

“Oh, no. No. No. No. Their chauffeur followed us. He’s waiting for them in their limo. They do not need a ride home.”

“They’ll need to be escorted from the building,” he said teasingly.

“Don’t push it, Delancey.”

“Seriously, I didn’t mean to put you in that situation,” he said. “I’m planning to walk them out.”

“I can do it,” she retorted. “Don’t think I can’t handle him.”

Ethan shook his head. “No. I want to do it. I’m working on a theory.”

“Hey, fine. Do what you want. I’d be happy if I never saw that skinny Richard Petty wannabe again.” She left the room.

Ethan turned his full attention back to Davis. He did look like a pale copy of the legendary NASCAR race driver in his black cowboy shirt, tie, leather jacket and jeans, and sporting a graying mustache. Against all the black, the signature silver belt buckle he wore stood out like a beacon. Small replicas of the buckle circled the black cowboy hat that completed his outfit. As they’d walked through the station, Buddy had shaken hands with and spoken to every single person he passed. And the whole time, Benita, his wife of thirty-some years, had clung to his side, her arm through his, and smiled and greeted people right alongside him.

Davis’s wife was an interesting specimen. She was several inches shorter than Davis and the description that came to Ethan’s mind was lean and hungry. Even though she had to be in her late fifties or early sixties, she wore a sleeveless top and a short denim skirt with cowboy boots. She obviously spent a lot of time either outside or in a tanning bed. He was reminded of an obsessed runner whose primary goal in life was zero body fat. She was leaning near Davis’s ear with her hand on his shoulder and talking rapidly.

Ethan was not looking forward to this interview. He’d questioned his share of celebrities, local and national, and he knew that he was going to encounter outrage, defensiveness, entitlement, pompousness, irrational demands and probably a quick dismissal with those words every police officer dreads hearing.
I want my lawyer.

He sighed as he walked around from the viewing room to the interview room. He’d give it his best shot until they cut him off. He’d no sooner stepped through the door when Benita attacked him verbally.

“What’s your name? I’m going to report you. How dare you send a rookie bimbo to bring us in here, without even a courtesy call ahead of time? This is an outrage. I’ve got a good mind to demand to see your captain.”

“Benni,” Buddy Davis said gently, placing a hand over hers. “Why don’t we listen and see what the young man has to say.” He turned his mild blue eyes to Ethan. “Are you a detective, son?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “Detective Ethan Delancey.” He chose to respond to the evangelist rather than to his strident, outraged wife. He’d heard bits and pieces of Davis’s sermons on television. The man was as hellfire-and-brimstone as any TV preacher Ethan had ever heard. But he’d never met Davis. The contrast between Buddy Davis the evangelist who dressed outrageously and drove a fancy Italian sports car while he shouted and ranted about love and tolerance, and Buddy Davis the polite, kindly husband who calmed his wife and subtly offered amends to Ethan, was astonishing.

“Delancey,” Buddy said, smiling. “I never met your granddad, although I’d have liked to. He was a powerful and influential man. I was sad when he died.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ethan said as Benita continued her tirade.

“And another thing,” she said stridently. “Why have we been dragged in here against our will? What on earth—”

“Against your will?” Ethan interrupted. “Surely the officer didn’t force you? Please tell me she didn’t handcuff you or hold you at gunpoint.”

Benita flushed. “Of course not. If—if she had, I would have already called our lawyer. But she practically threatened us.”

“Practically,” Ethan repeated thoughtfully. “I see.” He greeted Davis, smiling at him. “Mr. Davis—” he started.

“
Pastor
Davis,” Benita cut in.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “Pastor Davis, I’m sure you’ve seen the news about Senator Sills.”

“Of course he has,” Benita said. “It’s all over TV, radio and the internet.”

Davis patted her hand again. “Benni, he’s just doing his job. Let me answer his questions and we can be on our way.”

“Ma’am,” Ethan said, turning his attention to her. “If I have to, I’ll separate you. I need to be able to question Pastor Davis without you interrupting.”

Her face twisted in anger, but before she could speak, Davis’s hand squeezed hers. With a grimace, she tossed her head as if to say,
Go ahead, but you’re going to regret it.

“Thank you. Now, Pastor Davis,” Ethan said. “I take it you’ve seen the news?”

“Yes,” Davis responded. “It’s awful. Someone murdering Darby Sills right there in his hotel room.”

“Did you know the senator?”

“Why, yes. We are—or we were—good friends. We’ve played golf together for years.”

Ethan nodded. “That’s right. Senator Sills’s personal assistant, Elaine Montgomery, told me that.” He threw the name out, then paused, waiting for a reaction. Buddy Davis didn’t react, but Benita appeared to be almost in apoplexy from biting her tongue. “You know who she is, right?”

“Who? Elaine?” Davis asked. “Oh, yes, of course. Pretty thing, isn’t she? She must take after her mother, because she’s certainly better-looking than her old dad.” Davis laughed.

“Her dad. That would be Elliott Montgomery. You knew him?”

“Excuse me,
Detective.
I don’t mean to butt in, but why are you asking
us
about Senator Sills’s murder?”

“We’re talking with everyone who knew the senator, starting with those he had spoken with recently.”

“That certainly does not include us.”

Ethan addressed his answer to Buddy. “There was a call from the senator’s cell phone to your phone yesterday.”

“What?” Benita snapped. “Buddy? Did you talk to Senator Sills?”

Buddy looked at her. “I—I’m not sure,” he said.

“Where’s your phone, Buddy?” she asked him.

“Right here, in my pocket.”

“Let me see it.”

Buddy pulled his phone out and handed it to Benita. She bent her head and studied it, punching a button here and there.

Ethan divided his attention between Buddy and Benita. Their relationship seemed odd. As hellfire-and-brimstone as Buddy was when he preached, he was as meek as a lamb sitting here talking to his wife. Benita, for her part, was loud and insistent on his behalf but soft-spoken, even cautious, when talking to him. What was up with these two?

“Here it is,” Benita said. “The call came from Senator Sills’s cell phone but it’s showing as a missed call. I knew Buddy hadn’t talked to him. Here, Buddy. Take your phone.” She handed it to him, then turned back to Ethan. “Will there be anything else, Detective?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I have a few more questions. Pastor?” he addressed Buddy. “I was asking about Elliott Montgomery. Did you know him?”

“Montgomery?” Buddy repeated.

“The lobbyist, honey,” Benita said, patting Buddy’s hand. She turned to Ethan. “We met him a few times at political functions or charity events,” Benita answered. “I don’t recall ever meeting his daughter, though.” She shot a glance that was at once possessive and filled with suspicion at her husband.

“I just know her from going to Darby’s office, Benni. And I saw her a few times when she was younger, with her dad.” He paused. “Did something happen to her, Detective? I certainly hope she wasn’t there—”

“Buddy!” Benita snapped.

Ethan shot her a look. What was that about? Was she trying to shut him up before he said something incriminating? “No, sir. Nothing has happened to her. You were saying?”

Buddy frowned at him. “I was saying?”

“You said you certainly hoped that Elaine Montgomery wasn’t there.”

Buddy’s frown deepened and he looked at Benita.

“Don’t worry about it.” She laid a hand on his arm. “He was just expressing his hope that Ms. Montgomery was all right. Now, is that all?”

“Pastor,” Ethan said, ignoring Benita. “Where were you at around two a.m. on Wednesday morning?”

Buddy squinted at him. “Two a.m.? When? Yesterday?”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. “About thirty or so hours ago.”

“Well son, at two a.m. I’m pretty sure I was at home asleep.” He looked at his wife. “Right, Benni?”

Ethan noticed that as strident and interruptive as Benita had been throughout the questioning so far, she was uncharacteristically tight-lipped now. “Ms. Davis?”

She looked up. “What? Oh, sweetie, of course you were.” She inclined her head toward Buddy while nodding at Ethan. “Snoring like a freight train. We haven’t slept in the same room in years. I can’t sleep a wink if we’re in the same room, with all that honking and blowing going on. But he’s always in bed by eleven.” She swallowed. “Always.”

Buddy nodded placidly.

“And what about you, Mrs. Davis?”

“Me? You mean where was I when the senator was killed? What a ridiculous question. Are you suggesting that I might be a suspect?”

“My job is to ask questions, ma’am. Could you please answer?”

“Ask Buddy. I was at home in bed asleep, too.”

“But the two of you were in separate rooms. So really, neither one of you can swear that the other was at home.”

“Hmm, Benni? I think the boy’s got a point there,” Buddy said with an appreciative smile.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Benita snapped at the same time. “We were there, in the same house, all night.”

Ethan let the silence stretch for a moment, to see if either of them would break it. Benita was back to biting her lip and Buddy just stared at a spot on the desk. After about forty seconds, Ethan spoke. “So exactly what time did you last see your husband that night?”

“Well, it had to be close to eleven, didn’t it, since as I just told you, he goes to bed by eleven.”

“
Had to be?
You don’t remember for certain?”

She glared at him. “What I don’t remember is the past few nights being any different than our usual routine.”

Nice,
Ethan thought. Benita Davis was quick and careful.

“What about you, Pastor Davis? What time do you remember last seeing your wife that night?”