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“Than what?”
She laughed again. “I’m going to the premiere of your vid.”
“It’s not my vid.”
“I love premieres. You never know who you’ll see, or be seen by. Never know what might happen, and there’s nothing like seeing what nightmare dresses some women wear. Leonardo’s doing yours.”
“I’m not here to talk about my wardrobe.”
“Too bad. I could talk about clothes for hours. There you are, Aston. Will you make sure Delilah has her snack?”
“Of course.” He set her tea on the table beside her, walked over to offer the two glasses on the tray to Eve and Peabody.
“So, why are you here? I don’t have much time. I have appointments.”
“Marta Dickenson was murdered last night.”
Candida stretched her arms, shifted into recline pose. “Who’s Marta Dickenson, and why should I care?”
“She’s the accountant doing your trust fund audit. The one you’ve threatened.”
“Oh her.”
“Yeah, her.”
“If somebody killed her, it doesn’t make any difference to me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“No, I asked Tony, and he said they’d just have somebody else fuck with the audit. But maybe they won’t be such a bitch about it.”
“Who’s Tony?”
“Tony Greenblat. He’s my money guy.”
“One of the trustees?”
She made an ugly, dismissive sound. “He’s not one of those tight-assed old farts. He’s my personal finance manager, and he’s my lawyer, too. One of them. He’s working to get my money from my trust.”
“So Tony advised you it wouldn’t do you much good to kill Marta Dickenson.”
“Yeah. No!” Face sulky now, she angled herself up again. “You’re trying to trick me. I’m not stupid, you know.”
No, Eve thought, you go beyond stupid. “Why did you ask him about her?”
“Well, she’s dead, right? I thought maybe that would work for me. But Tony said it wouldn’t, so...” She shrugged it off, sipped her tea.
“If you didn’t know her, as you stated when I asked, why did you ask Tony?”
Candida’s eyebrows drew together in what Eve assumed was deep thought. “So what? So I knew who she was.”
“So what is you lied to a police officer during a murder investigation. If you’d lie about something as simple as that, I have to believe you’d lie about more important things. Like whether or not you arranged Marta Dickenson’s murder.”
In a bad-tempered move, Candida slapped her white cup down on the white table. “I did not either.”
“You threatened her. You harassed her. You made angry, threatening calls to her, and she responded by informing you to cease and desist or she would inform the trustees and the court. Now she’s dead.”
“So what?” Candida demanded again. “I can say what I want, there’s no law against it.”
