“Come now,” Candida said. “You must have realized you weren’t going to get the name of the murderer. You must have realized you couldn’t.”
“I think Linda was hoping you’d heard some rumors…” Casey sighed. “Things like this are so fascinating. Real murders among real people. That’s why true crime books sell so well. And of course, you know what Gregor Demarkian says.”
“Gregor Demarkian.” Candida processed the name through a couple of times and finally came up with a definite image. “Oh, yes. The detective. I’ve heard of him.”
“I thought you’d know a lot more about him than I do,” Casey said, “living on the Main Line and he’s from Philadelphia and everything. There are stories about him in the Inquirer all the time.”
“How do you know what stories are in the Inquirer? Do you mean publishing people in New York read the newspapers from Philadelphia?”
“Our clipping service clips articles about Demarkian for Linda Bell,” Casey said. “Linda’s wild to get him to do a book about his cases. She said it would be absolutely the hit of the season. He hasn’t been interested so far though. I don’t think he likes publicity.”
“What is it he always says that you think I should have heard of?”
“He says somebody always knows the identity of the murderer.” Casey sat up and stretched. “He says even in really famous cases like Lizzie Borden and Jack the Ripper, there were people who knew what happened. They just never told and the truth never came out.”
“I suppose the murderer always knows what happened,” Candida said. “There’s that.”
“It’s not just the murderer. It’s people around the murderer. People who know the murderer.”
Candida shook her head decisively. “I don’t see what good that would do. If the murderer was some passing tramp, or a hophead looking for money for drugs, well, the murderer himself might not know he’d committed the murder ten minutes after he’d committed it. He might not remember a thing.”
“But Jacqueline Hazzard wasn’t killed by a passing tramp,” Casey said. “At least, that’s not what the police thought at the time.”
“The police thought a lot of things at the time,” Candida said, “including that I committed that murder myself to get Jacqueline out of the way so I could marry Paul. It was a damned good thing I’d been photographed shaking hands with the President of the United States at a fund-raiser for the homeless in Los Angeles twenty minutes after the crime was supposed to have been committed. The police think a lot of things.”
“I suppose they do,” Casey said. “Never mind. I guess Linda and I were really hoping that you were the one—well, you know—that you were the person who knew what really happened, and that you’d hint.”
“My dear girl,” Candida said. “If I did anything like that, I’d be sued. These are educated people we’re dealing with here. They don’t put up with nonsense of that kind. They make you pay for it.”
There was a soft sound of footsteps, rubber soles against hardwood floors, and Candida’s maid came into the room, still in uniform and looking expectant.
“There was something you wanted, Mrs. DeWitt?”
Candida DeWitt had never been married, but she understood that after a certain age that was not an asset. She called herself a widow and provided no further information.
“Louise,” she said now, “I’d like a cup of coffee, if you wouldn’t mind getting it for me. Perhaps Ms. Holder would like a cup of coffee too.”
“Coffee,” Casey Holder said. “I don’t think so. Unless you have decaf?”
Candida kept her expression neutral. She didn’t keep decaf in the house. It tasted like cow’s piss.
“We have herb teas,” she suggested instead. “Red Zinger, I believe, and—Sleepytime?”
“Yes, Mrs. DeWitt,” Louise said. “We have Sleepytime. We also have Mandarin Orange and Lemon Zinger.”
“Mandarin Orange,” Casey said quickly. “That will be perfect.”
“I will bring along the honey in case you like it sweet,” Louise said. Then she turned around and disappeared.
Candida stared at the empty space where Louise had been and thought hard. It was so difficult to decide what to do sometimes. She had always been a very easygoing sort. She had always had to be. She had never operated out of revenge before. She found it very difficult to understand what it would be best to say or who it would be best to talk to or when it would be best to sit still and not move at all.