LITMIR.BIZ

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to be disobedient. You’re just like your mother. Evil, pure evil.” He reached over and dipped his hand in the blood pooled at the end of the slanted table. He smeared it on the child’s face. “You’ve got the blood of this dead man on you, you ungrateful brat. Don’t you move. You’re not going to cry, are you? You know what happens when you cry. Go ahead, cry like a little baby.”

      The child didn’t move as the embalmer began his work on the corpse; didn’t cry when the scalpel slit open the veins and the blood began to drain.

      The child was seven years old.

      5

      “I can assure you that I have nothing whatsoever to hide. Neither does Doctor Black,” Miki Tudor said. Defensive as hell. She was so classic Grace Kelly, chin-length, ash-blond hair pulled back in a chignon with a tasteful tortoiseshell clasp. Tiny pearl earrings on delicate ears. A strand of large pearls draped around her neck, real ones, expensive, if I was any judge. Actually, I wouldn’t know a real pearl from a peppermint Chiclet. Miki fingered the glossy necklace, revealing more nerves than she admitted.

      “Nice pearls,” I said.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      Bud was ogling the young woman and making no bones about it. Not a new development. Bachelors admired attractive women. It was their nature. Ms. Tudor was ignoring his drool, highly insulted that law officers dared think that she or her renowned employer could be involved in a crime.

      “Nobody’s accusing either of you of anything.” My voice stayed level. I’d learned to be patient. Why spook the lady before we got what we wanted out of her? Miki Tudor wasn’t the first person I’d questioned whose defenses were revved to full throttle. “We’d like to view the hotel’s security tapes.”

      “I think you need a warrant for that sort of thing,” Miki said, eyes unblinking and on me. Guarding her master like a well-heeled dog. A poodle in pearls.

      “That’s true in some cases. Most of the time we don’t. Innocent people are usually eager to work with us. I doubt, Ms. Tudor, that you want to get off on a bad foot in a police investigation, especially when there’s no real reason to.”

      Confident Miki looked a tad unsure of herself, so I pressed her.

      “We realize this is a difficult time for the hotel staff, but if you cooperate with us, we’ll get through it faster and easier.”

      Bud decided to ooze some Southern charm. He oozed well and knew it. He was oozing it better with pretty Miki Tudor than he had oozed it with elderly Madeline Jane Cohen. “Believe me, Ms. Tudor, we’re not suggestin’ you had anything to do with this. We just want to find the killer as soon as possible.” His smile was white and winning, his eyes beseeching, his Rhett Butler accent heavily pronounced. Miki visibly relaxed, even dropped her hand and quit fidgeting. Maybe she didn’t like female police officers. Most women didn’t trust their own gender. I sure as hell didn’t. Give me a male friend any day. But then I’d always been a tomboy, so there you go.

      Miki folded smooth, tanned hands atop her white French provincial desk. Fingernails were immaculate, a French manicure, perfectly done. Miki Tudor defined cool elegance and obviously liked French stuff. Framed by a spectacular view of blue water, behind her white sails dotted the lake as entrants practiced for Cedar Bend’s famous Independence Day Regatta, slated for a few days from now. She was a good-looking woman, and I would bet a week’s pay that Miki wore her large, tortoise-rimmed spectacles to de-emphasize her beauty. Under the big lenses, her china-blue eyes looked wary and fatigued. Miki was edgy and trying to hide it.

      Miki could be concealing guilt, but my intuition told me it was more likely frayed nerves and a red-eye from Kansas City.

      “We realize you haven’t had much sleep, Ms. Tudor. Naturally, this is quite a shock to you. Would it be better if we postponed this interview until tomorrow? After you’ve had some rest?”

      The offer surprised Black’s personal assistant big time, not to mention Bud. I ignored his quizzical look and studied Miki’s face. The young woman was incredibly readable. I liked to watch people’s expressions and body language. My instincts were usually right on, and I had enough common sense to listen to my inner voice, as they say. Miki was tired. And now Miki was grateful; her big blue eyes welled up, and she became a weepy poodle. I noted, however, that no tears actually fell. A delicate lace hankie miraculously appeared in Miki’s hand, and she daintily dabbed nonexistent tears away.

      “Forgive me, detectives, I’m just overly emotional. I can’t help it. I am exhausted and thoroughly stunned by all this. Nothing like this happens here at Cedar Bend. I thought it was impossible. And I know Sylvie. We’d become pretty good friends since she’d been coming here. We’re both runners. Last week we ran three miles together every day.”

      She inhaled deeply, breath shaky. She shook her head. Her coiffure didn’t move. She had no wrinkles, not even a frown line. Botox Betty. “I just can’t seem to absorb this,” she said and met my eyes in a show of vulnerability. Okay, I am a skeptical cop, I admit it. I watched her remember her duty to Cedar Bend and Doctor Black. She retreated into narrow-eyed, guard-poodle mode. “We do everything humanly possible, and I mean everything, to protect our guests. Nick insists upon the tightest security, especially with his patients.”

      Nick, was it? Well, well. First-name basis between Doctor Black and girl Friday. Interesting to be sure, but that could mean anything.

      “Man, that’s terrible. Her bein’ your friend and all.” Bud leaned forward, Mr. Earnest. I thought for a moment he was going to reach out and hold her hand, but he didn’t. He said, “But we really need your help today to catch this guy, if you feel up to it at all. Did the victim have any enemies that you know about? Did she mention any problems that cropped up since she’s been here at the lake?”

      “Well, actually, we weren’t that close yet. At least not enough for her to bare her heart about her personal problems. Nick knows her much better than I do, really. He’s just devastated. He could barely talk when I told him what happened.”

      I said, “Did he know anything about Sylvie’s frame of mind the night she was killed?”

      “No. He asked the questions,” Miki said. “And I didn’t know all the details. He wants to talk to you as soon as possible so you can tell him exactly what happened.”

      “When’s he coming back?”

      “Tomorrow morning, early. He has business meetings in New York today, and Larry King tonight. Black always honors commitments.”

      Right. I said, “I’d like to speak with him as soon as he returns. What time do you expect him?”

      “He’s coming in on the Lear, but he’ll probably spend the night in New York. He’s got a loft in TriBeca. His ex-wife lives in Manhattan, and he usually visits her.”

      “And his ex-wife’s name?” I poised my pen over my notepad.

      “Jude.”

      “Jude what?” I asked.

      “Not the Jude?” Bud perked up considerably. “You don’t mean the supermodel from Denmark?”

      “Yes, she’s quite well known.”

      “Yeah, I’ll say. She was on the cover of Sports Illustrated a few years back. I remember it well.”

      Bud was downright giddy. After all, it was the swimsuit edition. He probably had it framed in his bathroom. “How long has Doctor Black been divorced?”

      “Five or six years, I think.” Miki leaned back in her swivel chair, obviously uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. “To be perfectly honest, I’d prefer that you ask him any questions about his private life. It’s really none of my business and certainly not my place.”

      “Of course.” I nodded, the understanding, fellow female detective. “If you’ll tell me approximately when he’ll be here, I can be waiting for

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