"Oh?"
When she didn't elaborate immediately, Wyatt intentionally pulled his gaze off the portrait and stared down at the young woman, offering her a smile of encouragement. She lifted a hand to her throat, her cheeks turning a soft pink as she stared up at him. She wasn't the first woman to look into his blue eyes and see something she wanted to see there, and she almost certainly wouldn't be the last.
"Well…" The girl looked quickly over her shoulder, then peeked past Wyatt down the other short hallway.
Confirming they were not being observed, she continued. "I'm not one to speak ill of the dead."
Everyone spoke ill of the dead. It just took them an hour or two.
"Dr. Roger was a little hard to work for." She swallowed visibly. "And I don't imagine he was much easier to live with. Dr. Alfred loved him to bits, but other than that, he wasn't really well liked around here."
"Not even by his wife and sister, or his stepbrother?"
She frowned, shaking her head. "Sometimes it seemed like all three of them were united in hating him, others like they were fighting over a boyfriend they were crazy about. It was really weird. Dr. Judith and Dr. Angela sometimes act the same way now about Dr. Kean."
Dr. Kean. Angela Kean's angry husband? What must it be like for him, working down the hall from his domineering wife, across from his overbearing father-in-law?
And right beside his stunning, widowed sister-in-law?
Somewhere nearby, a door closed, and the young woman stepped back, guilty and nervous. "I think I've said enough."
Wyatt moved forward, staying close, maintaining that intimate air that silently told her she could trust him. "Dr. Roger's death… do you suspect someone did something to him?"
She pulled her lips into her mouth, as if clamping down on them to keep herself from saying something she shouldn't.
He persisted. "You don't think he had a heart attack?"
After a brief hesitation, she shook her head once, keeping those lips sealed. As if as long as she didn't say the words aloud, she wasn't really talking about her employers.
"His sister?" Jealous of their father's attention, perhaps?
No response.
Wyatt zoomed in on his own favorite suspect. "His wife?"
The eyes flared briefly, confirming it. The receptionist believed Roger Underwood's wife had done something to him. Having met the woman, he thought it highly possible. She was beautiful, brilliant. How difficult would it be for a woman with so much to offer to find out her own husband had such vile preferences? A blow like that could drive any woman to a sudden rage. No doubt about that.
Had she found out about her husband on that very night-perhaps figuring out Roger had stolen the car and was involved in the planned attack on two young children? What possible excuse had he given her for disappearing for those couple of nights? Might he actually have admitted what he'd done?
A sound penetrated from just inside the closed office door to their right. Without hesitation, Wyatt put the tips of his fingers on the receptionist's shoulder, turning her and pushing her forward, so she appeared to be leading him. A second later, the door swung inward and Dr. Judith Underwood appeared there.
She stared at the receptionist, her pretty eyes glacial, her face as cold as a mask carved of pure ice. "I was beginning to think you got lost."
"Sorry," the young woman said.
Wyatt interrupted. "It was entirely my fault. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting."
He offered her an intimate smile, extending his hand. Judith took it, her eyes widening as he kept her fingers clasped in his own for a moment longer than was technically necessary. "Once again, I've interrupted your workday," he murmured.
"You'll have to make it up to me sometime," she replied, her tone intimate, matching his. The icy expression melted as she gently tugged him inside, seeming to forget all about the receptionist, who had already scurried away.
"How should I do that?" he asked, stepping aside as she shut the door behind him.
"Lunch?"
She might not be hungry after their meeting, but he merely offered her a noncommittal shrug. As if he were instead silently saying. Dinner?
"Please, have a seat." She didn't go to her own, behind the desk, instead gracefully lowering herself to a small love seat in the corner, grouped with two comfortable chairs. He assumed the coffee-klatch setup was designed to make skittish patients feel more at ease before submitting their laugh lines or extra chins to the knife.
"Thank you," he said, taking his time, as if keenly interested in the office. He glanced around, noting the degrees, the awards, the thank-you letters from grateful patients. There was only one photograph, the same huge portrait of the Underwood family in front of their beach house that hung in the outer hallway. He recalled it also graced one of the walls in Dr. Kean's office-the senior Dr. Underwood's contribution to the building's decor, perhaps?
He also realized one more thing. There was no photo of Roger Underwood. Not a single snapshot to remind the grieving widow of her dearly departed.
That was all right. He had something else that would bring the man to mind.
The understated flirtation had relaxed her. She had correctly interpreted the intimacy in his smile and that second-too-long handshake, felt comfortable and mildly flattered at his attention. Meaning it was time to pull the rug out.
Wyatt unceremoniously pulled the digital recorder out of his pocket and set it down on the coffee table, hitting the play switch even as he sat down across from her. Roger Underwood's voice emerged from it.
The color dropped from Judith's face. "What is that?"
Lifting a brow, as if confused by the query, Wyatt replied, "I believe it's your husband's workshop on a new piece of laser equipment, isn't it? From a speech he gave in 2007?"
The woman moved as if to stand, but Wyatt put a hand on her arm, not restraining, still intimate. And he threw her off balance again. "Judith, I understand," he said softly.
She hesitated.
"Of course you would want to protect your husband."
She didn't settle back in her seat, but she did at least stop trying to get up.
"You loved him."
The muscles beneath his hand tensed.
"Or at least you wanted to protect his reputation. For the sake of the family, of the business."
She finally leaned back in the chair. Which was when he knew he had nailed it.
Wyatt let go of her arm and sat back himself, eyeing her with sympathy. "It can't have been easy."
"What is it you want?"
"I mean, knowing what he had been planning to do.
It must have been so difficult. How long had you known the truth about him?"
Blinking, she simply stared and he could almost see the wheels turning in the intelligent mind. How much does he know? What is he asking? What do I say?
Wyatt tipped the balance again, intentionally leaving her to wonder. "Forgive me; we can discuss that later. Let's talk about the night in question. The night he took your sister-in-law's car. Did you notice he was missing?"
Judith hesitated before finally admitting, "Yes. Right before the banquet."
"He hadn't told you he was going anywhere?"
"He mentioned something about having to make some calls."
"Did you find that strange?"
"Of course. Roger usually made an effort to keep his daddy happy, even though Alfred would forgive him absolutely anything." Judith glanced out the window, staring at the blue sky beyond. "I later wondered why he didn't just claim he was sick, but I suppose Ben already had the corner on faking illness to cover what he was really up to that night."
"Ben?