Baxter tipped his head. “Her husband was found murdered in her office after allegedly having sex with another woman on top of her desk. How do you think she’s really doing, Traynor?” For a moment, his face turned ugly, his glare set on Bud’s mouth.
Bud didn’t miss a beat. He put his hands together and shook his head, sadly, so sadly. He was very good. If he tried hard enough, Max was sure he could dredge up a few tears, too.
Baxter looked at her watching Bud. She turned to catch his eye, but couldn’t be sure what he thought he saw.
Undercurrents flowed between the two men. Max failed to read their true meaning. It had been that way in the hall with Julia. Bud, pushing, Julia, a tad surprised, a hint of distrust, more comfortable fetching tea than with Bud’s arms around her. Now Baxter, something akin to hatred in the glance he’d shot Bud.
The controlled Bud was back again. “The least I can do for Julia is loan her Max for a few days. Max can handle any unpleasant task Julia doesn’t want to deal with.”
Baxter’s nostrils flared, but his voice remained civil. “I’m sure she appreciates it, but Julia has her own assistant.”
Heels tapping on the hardwood floor behind them, Julia answered before Bud could. “I could use the help.” She looked at Max with eyes that were not quite so dull anymore. “Tea will be here in a moment.” She looked at Baxter. “How can you drink while our guests have nothing?”
“Theirs is on the way.”
Tone of voice and expression of face were everything. Neither was angry. In fact, if anything, there was a slight rise to Baxter’s lips that hadn’t been there before. They bantered. It was friendly. They were probably not even aware they did it. Max wondered again at the relationship but was unable to pinpoint it.
If the occupants of the room weren’t so refined, she’d say they were giving each other shit.
“On second thought, Julia, I really must be off.” Bud rose, forcing Baxter, then Max to follow suit.
Julia smiled. “Why did you let me make tea then?”
Damn, Max liked this woman. Even if there was a possibility she might have killed her husband. Max looked at Bud and thought perhaps sometimes murder victims deserved their deaths. Bud certainly deserved a gruesome demise.
Bud, for his part, didn’t look phased. “I’m sure Baxter will manage to finish the next batch of tea.”
Hmmm, catty male comment? Max wondered.
Bud went on. “I’ll have to take Max with me since she didn’t bring her own car, but she’ll give you her phone number.”
“My home number?” Max’s heart skipped a beat.
He gave her that I-am-the-boss-and-you-better-do-what-I-say look. “Yes, your home number. Julia already has our work number.”
Giving it to Julia would be the same as giving it to Bud. Max thought of her home, which was merely one room on the second floor of an old Victorian that housed mostly students attending the nearby university. She ate, slept, and took a shower there. If that could be called living. At least she didn’t have to answer the phone if she didn’t want to.
Reaching into her voluminous bag, Max miraculously came out with a pen and a scrap of paper. She wrote her number, then handed it to Julia La Russa.
“Starr, Starr,” Baxter said idly. “The name sounds familiar.”
“My husband worked in the district attorney’s office up in San Francisco for a few years. His name was on TV a time or two.” She paused a beat. “Cameron Starr.”
“Cameron Starr,” he said, eyes sharp and focused on Bud. “Wasn’t he the fellow looking into Walter’s death, Traynor?”
“Yes, he was, I believe.”
“And wasn’t he the one who got—” For the first time, Baxter Newton faltered, his gaze flip-flopping between Max and Julia.
Max felt sorry for him. He obviously wasn’t used to blundering. “Yes, he was.”
Cameron’s murder hung heavily in the air. Even Julia seemed to swallow with difficulty.
“I’m sorry about your loss, Max. We don’t mean to remind you of it.” Julia was gracious in her expensive black mourning dress.
Max clenched her teeth. Words were no easier to accept today than they had been two years ago. But she could be no less gracious in this refined house than her hostess had been in accepting Max’s platitudes. “Thank you.”
Bud saved her. Not that she’d owe him anything. Ever. “That’s why I think Max’ll be able to help you, Julia. In more ways than one. And now we really must be going.”
Bud led the way, Julia at his side. The skirt of the dress swayed as she walked, brushing his checked golf pants.
Baxter Newton fell into step with Max, but at a leisurely pace. Max slowed with him, suspecting he had something to say.
“I’ll get right to the point, since we don’t have much time. Why does he want you to spy for him?”
Damnation. Baxter Newton knew Bud was a fraud. By default, so was she. Her cover had been blown.
Chapter Nine