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“You don’t think so,” Roarke observed.
“No, it looks like drag marks. It looks like her face bumped against the pool coping on a roll. But even if it was an accident, we’ve got a corpse that looks uncomfortably like one of the investigators, a houseful of Hollywood—along with a reporter—and a media machine that’s going to eat it like gooey chocolate.”
“And the primary investigator is the star of the show.”
Eve shook her head, glanced back at the body. “Right now I’d say she has top billing.”
Downstairs she asked Roarke to do a quick review of the security discs, then walked into the living area. Everyone started talking at once.
“Stop. Sit. I’m not going to be able to answer any questions at this time, so don’t waste your breath. I can confirm K.T. Harris is dead.”
“Oh God.” Connie put her hands over her face.
“Until the ME examines the body I can’t give you any more than that. I’ll be talking to each of you individually.”
Andrea held a shot glass. She tossed back the contents, eyed Eve with steady interest. “We’re suspects.”
“I’ll be talking to you,” Eve repeated. “Dr. Mira, if I could have a moment.”
“Of course.”
Mira rose from her position on a sofa, followed Eve out of the room.
“What’s your take? Just a quick thumbnail of reactions.”
“Is it homicide?”
“I can’t tell you. Really can’t. It has earmarks of an accident—or. So until that’s determined, we’ll proceed as if it’s or. What’s your take?”
“Individually and as a group, they’re upset, nervous. Connie’s managed to hold on to her role as hostess. Roundtree had her, and everyone else, half convinced Harris had just passed out like Julian. The producer and the publicist huddled together awhile. He wasn’t happy—well, several weren’t—when McNab confiscated all ’links. But no one caused any trouble. Matthew and Marlo were the most shaken, but as they found her, that’s to be expected.”
“Maybe you could sit in on the interviews, at least for now.”
“If you think I can help.”
“It’s a weird, fucked-up situation. You’re a shrink. That’s your area. Weird and fucked-up, right?”
The tension on Mira’s face dissolved with her laugh. “I suppose it is.”
Chapter 4
She started with Matthew at the dining room table where they’d all shared a meal. A low centerpiece of white lilies and short candles replaced the food and dishes, and a gray T-shirt and sweatpants replaced Matthew’s suit.
“Connie gave me a change of clothes. They have a home gym and she keeps some workout gear for guests. McNab said it was okay if I changed. My clothes were wet. Marlo’s, too. Wet. She changed, too.”
“No problem. I want to record this, and just to cover everything, I’m going to read you your rights.”
“Been a while.”
“Sorry?”
“I got arrested for drunk and disorderly and underage drinking when I was seventeen. One of those ‘the parents are away so let’s party’ deals at a friend’s. Too loud, too stupid, and I mouthed off to the cop. A thousand-dollar fine, alcohol school, and three months’ community service. I got grounded for three months on top of it.
“Sorry,” he added and scrubbed the heels of his hands over his face. “That doesn’t mean a damn, does it? I’ve never seen anyone dead before. I’ve been dead, killed people, held my dying sister in my arms—on-screen. So you think you’ve got it, but you don’t. No matter how good they are with the makeup, the lighting, the angles, it’s not the same.”
His breath hitched in and out. “She was so white. And her eyes...”
“Would you like some water, Matthew? Some tea?”
