Wanting Sheila Dead(70)

“I don’t like a lot of the things you do,” Olivia said. “We got all that straightened out a long time ago, too. We don’t have to like each other to work together. I like this job. I like the perks it brings. You wouldn’t know how to break anybody else in. We go on with it. I should get the judging panel. If we wait much longer, Deedee’s going to be too drunk to stand up. She’s not doing all that well even now.”

“Do you know who that girl was, the one that died in the study today?”

Olivia was looking down the table again, counting the pads and water glasses. “No,” she said finally. “I don’t. I didn’t know who she was back at the Milky Way Ballroom. It doesn’t matter who she was.”

“It must matter to somebody,” Sheila said. “She must have family, or friends, or people she worked with. She wasn’t a hooker, or a bum. You could see that by looking at her.”

“Maybe she was mentally ill,” Olivia said. “A lot of people walk around mentally ill without being diagnosed until they finally do something too odd to ignore. Maybe this was her too-odd thing.”

“She also didn’t kill herself,” Sheila said.

“Didn’t she?” Olivia said. “Did the police tell you that?”

“The police didn’t tell me anything,” Sheila said. She was sitting aslant in the chair, stretching out her legs under the table. “They didn’t tell anybody anything. Your Mr. Demarkian didn’t, either. But I did overhear things.”

“She must have killed herself,” Olivia said. “Why else would she be dead? None of us knew her. Why would any of us want to kill her?”

Sheila picked up the ballpoint pen and twirled it through her fingers. “I thought you were going to get that Mr. Demarkian to look into all this for us.”

“I’m trying, Sheila. He doesn’t usually work for private individuals. He works for police departments as a consultant. He does take private cases sometimes, if he’s interested in them. So I’ve got my fingers crossed, and I’m going to get in touch with him tomorrow.”

“Good,” Sheila said. “Because I think he’s the only person who might actually get this through your thick skull. And your skull is thick, Olivia. You’re an excellent assistant, but your mind works at the speed of molasses.”

“Is that supposed to mean something? Or are you just insulting me for the hell of it?”

Sheila sat forward. “That’s supposed to mean that I do know what you’re trying to do, and you aren’t going to get away with it. That wasn’t Mallory on that study floor. Believe it or not, I haven’t been completely cut off from Mallory all these years.”

“Haven’t you? And I didn’t think it was Mallory.”

“No, I don’t think you did,” Sheila agreed. “But I think you expected me to think so. Or maybe you just expected me to suspect. But I saw Mallory only last year. I know where she is. I know what she’s doing. I know what she looks like.”

“I thought the two of you didn’t speak.”

“We don’t,” Sheila said. “You don’t have to speak to someone to see them. What I want to know is who that girl is, because no matter what you say, I think you do know. I think you have to know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Olivia said.

Suddenly, she was having one of her rare fits of anger. It wasn’t very useful, getting angry at Sheila Dunham. It didn’t make a dent, and Sheila was too good at using it against you. Still, this made Olivia furious, and it was all she could do to stop herself from taking one of those pitchers of ice water and pouring it over Sheila’s head. Wouldn’t that be something for the camera footage? There were a good six cameras in this dining room. They’d catch the whole thing, and there would be YouTube videos for a month.

Olivia looked down at her clipboard. Counted nothing in particular, just to give herself a chance to calm down, and then said:

“Why don’t you sit still for a minute and I’ll get the others.”

It was not a question. Olivia did not expect an answer. She went to the door on the other side of the room, the one that led to the living room, and opened it. They were all out there in a little cluster, milling around and eating little finger things that Olivia had had put out on a tray. That was whistling in the dark. She’d hoped that if there was enough food, Deedee’s trips to her pocket flask would have less effect than usual.

It hadn’t worked. Deedee Plant rarely ate anything, because she thought that would keep her from getting fat. She was a middle-aged woman, though, and she looked it, thick around the middle even without having gained any significant weight. She didn’t have the money for personal trainers and liposuction. Either that, or she spent all the money on the pocket flask.