Bud Traynor was a functioning alcoholic. He got nasty on his third gin and tonic. Wrong word. Sadistic was better. His pleasure in causing pain, and, strangely, his control of himself, rose exponentially with the level of alcohol.
“Just a glass of wine perhaps,” Hal coaxed.
“Yes, wine would be fine,” she agreed, merely to move the conversation forward.
Inside her, Wendy curled into a fetal ball. Max looked Bud Traynor over dispassionately. He was a good-looking man, mid-to-late fifties, thick, graying hair, eyebrows several shades darker. He obviously prided himself on his physique; a well-toned chest and muscled arms lay beneath a hunter-green polo shirt.
For an old guy, he was sort of doable. As Wendy’s father, he made her want to puke. No finger down the throat necessary for that.
As Hal’s footsteps receded, Max did what she’d come here to do: test reactions. “Detective Long told me about Lilah Bloom’s murder.”
“Ah, the Bloom woman. Please, have a seat, Max.” Not an ounce of regret nor any other discernible emotion in Bud’s voice.
He patted the sofa beside him. When he smiled at most women, he set out to charm. When he spoke, he gave a woman his full attention. When he looked at Max, she only saw the relentless predator in his almost black eyes.
Max sat on the matching loveseat, out of his reach. Hal returned, approaching silently across the Berber carpet, set her glass on the coffee table, then moved to perch on the arm of the sofa opposite Bud. A pale shadow in her periphery.
With them both now present and accounted for, Max plunged ahead. “The detective believes the motive for Lilah’s murder could have been blackmail.”
“The detective has a lot of theories he’s discussed with both Hal and I. But what do you think, Max?”
It was a smooth maneuver, turning the question back on her. It didn’t fail her notice that neither Bud nor Hal questioned her interest. She decided to tell him exactly what she’d seen in her dream and hoped it would cause a flicker of apprehension.
“I think Lilah was supposed to meet a blackmailer at a restaurant, but he showed up at her shop and took her by surprise.”
Hal said nothing. Bud answered with another question. “So you believe Lilah’s killer was a man?”
“I could have said it.”
He raised his hand; the ruby ring glinted. Taking a mouthful of gin, he rolled it round his tongue before swallowing. “I’m so glad you’re looking out for my daughter’s interest, Max. I can see how much you care.”
The man was a master of deflection, and his emotions were too closely schooled to reveal a thing, especially guilt. Still, she tried more shock tactics. “Lilah had a gun. She missed using it by a fraction of a second.”
“Blackmailers usually get what they deserve, don’t they?” This time he waited for her reaction.
“Even if Lilah was a blackmailer, she didn’t deserve a death sentence.”
“What could Wendy’s nail woman know to use as blackmail?” Hal spoke this time, his voice harsh with anger. Was his emotion prompted by fear? Or by the very idea that Lilah Bloom might well have known more about his wife’s life than he did?
Max sipped her wine. “Wonderful bouquet,” she remarked, politeness all around. “The detective thinks Wendy might have told Lilah a lot of things about herself.”
“Only her hairdresser knows for sure,” Bud quipped. An uncaring remark for a man who’d so recently buried his daughter. Asshole.
“Something like that,” she agreed.
Hal moved then, took a spot on the loveseat beside her. She felt surrounded. Trapped. A chill shivered along her backbone. “So you think my wife spilled her guts to a woman who painted her nails for fifteen bucks an hour?”
Thirty-five. Wendy had lied to him about that, too. “Detective Long seems to think so.”
There she went again. She felt like a puppet citing Witticisms. Her fingers tensed on the stem of her wineglass, and she wondered where her usual snappy comebacks had flown to.
The answer stared at her from a pair of eyes black enough to give her heart palpitations. Maybe they were Wendy’s palpitations? Bud Traynor made her mouth go dry. His concentrated gaze, as palpable as a touch to her nipple, made her suspect he saw every secret inside her head. Wendy had never been able to hide a thing from him. How the hell had she hidden her affair with Nick?
The answer: she hadn’t hidden it at all.
Bud took control once more. He’d never let his son-in-law take over for too long. “Let’s assume our esteemed detective is correct. Lilah Bloom blackmailed Wendy’s killer.” Bud swirled the ice cubes in his glass. He tugged on the leg of his pants and crossed his ankle over his knee. “Perhaps Wendy told her the name of the man with whom she was conducting her adulterous affair.”
Hal’s lips tensed, but he said nothing.