“I can’t let you do much for me.” He cleared his throat.
“Right now especially. For pretty much the next year. This guy she’s with likes money and knows I have some, you know, from my family. I don’t want to lose everything.”
“I don’t see how you can, in light of what she’s done.”
“It’s complicated. I have to be careful. I want my children to still care about me, to respect me.” He looked at me and withdrew his hand. “You know how I feel. Please try to just leave it at that.”
“Did you know about her in December, when we decided to stop- He interrupted me, “Yes. I knew.”
“I see.” My voice was tight. “I wish you could have told me. It might have made it easier.”
“I don’t think anything could have made it easier.”
“Good night, Benton,” I said as I got out of his car, and I did not turn around to watch him drive away.
Inside, Lucy was playing Melissa Etheridge, and I was glad my niece was here and that there was music in the house. I forced myself to not think about him, as if I could walk into a different room in my mind and lock him out.
Lucy was inside the kitchen, and I took my coat off and set my pocketbook on the counter.
“Everything okay?” She shut the refrigerator door with a shoulder and carried eggs to the sink.
“Actually, everything’s pretty rotten,” I said.
“What you need is something to eat, and as luck would have it, I’m cooking.”
“Lucy”-I leaned against the counter–if someone is trying to disguise Eddings’ death as an accident or suicide, then I can see how subsequent threats or intrigue concerning my Norfolk office might make sense. But why would threats have been made to any member of my staff in the past? Your deductive skills are good. You tell me.”
She was beating egg whites into a bowl and thawing a bagel in the microwave. Her nonfat routines were depressing, and I did not know how she kept them up.
“You don’t know that anyone was threatened in the past,” she matter-of-factly said.
“I realize I don’t know, at least not yet.” I had begun making Viennese coffee. “But I’m simply trying to reason this out. I’m looking for a motive and coming up emptyhanded. Why don’t you add a little onion, parsley and ground pepper to that? A pinch of salt can’t hurt you, either.
“You want me to fix you one?” she asked as she whisked.
“I’m not very hungry. Maybe I’ll eat soup later.”
She glanced up at me. “Sorry everything’s rotten.”
I knew she referred to Wesley, and she knew I wasn’t going to discuss him.
“Eddings’ mother lives near here,” I said. “I think I should talk to her.”
“Tonight’? At the last minute?” The whisk lightly clicked against the sides of the bowl.
“She very well may want to talk tonight, at the last minute,” I said. “She’s been told her son is dead and not much more.
“Yeah,” Lucy muttered. “Happy New Year.”
CHAPTER 7
I DID NOT HAVE TO ASK ANYONE FOR A RESIDENTIAL LISTing or telephone number because the dead reporter’s mother was the only Eddings with a Windsor Farms address. According to the city directory, she lived on the lovely tree-lined street of Sulgrave, which was well known for wealthy estates and the sixteenth-century manors called Virginia House and Agecroft that in the 1920s had been shipped from England in crates. The night was still young when I called, but she sounded as if she had been asleep.
“Mrs. Eddings?” I said, and I told her who I was.
“I’m afraid I drifted off.” She sounded frightened. “I’m sitting in my living room watching TV. Goodness, I don’t even know what’s on now. It was My Brilliant Career on PBS. Have you seen that?”
“Mrs. Eddings,” I said again, “I have questions about your son, Ted. I’m the medical examiner for his case. And I was hopeful we might talk. I live but a few blocks from YOU.”
“Someone told me you did.” Her thick Southern voice got thicker with tears. “That you lived close by.”