I nodded, because my tongue was very dry. Even the way he outlined his relations with his mother upset me.
“Good!” He raised his glass, and I hurriedly sipped mine to wet my throat. “Now,” he went on, “about Marchmount’s failure to recognize you. Had he seen much of you when your father worked for him?”
I thought that was an odd question. After all, the man.., “No, actually, he hadn’t seen that much of me. Dad usually went up to the house if he had anything to discuss with Mr. Marchmount. He rarely came to the stables the way Mrs. du Maurier had.”
“Hmmm. And with your hair that stupid shade”-he gave me a look of affectionate disgust-”he’d not be as likely to recognize you… particularly in his condition.”
Louis Marchmount hadn’t seemed drunk to me. He was the kind of man who was a very boisterous drunk: I used to hear his whinny of a laugh when he gave pool parties. No, he’d seemed… sort of dissociated.
Rafe drummed his fingers on the table, just the way his mother had tapped the steering wheel.
“But, Rafe, he…”
There was just a shade of amused condescension in Rafe’s grin.
“I think you have been refining too much upon that unfortunate incident, Nialla. I can’t remember the face of every girl I’ve slept with, and Lou Marchmount is way ahead of me. Only because he’s been around longer.”
Shock battled with outraged humor, and I ended up giggling.
“It’s not a trifling matter, Rafe.”
He pretended remorse. “For him, it was.” He grabbed my hands. “Honest, dear heart”-and his expression became serious-”I’m not being heartless: I’m realistic. I couldn’t care less that your virginity was gone when I married you. I only regret you lost it under such circumstances and that it affected you so adversely. But if you thought you were branded, Lou Marchmount’s lack of recognition ought to ease your mind.”
“It doesn’t, because now he knows who I am. And he’ll surely remember that he raped Russ Donnelly’s daughter because she needed money to clear her father’s name.”
“As I gather you were a scared virgin. I’d say with confidence he’s not likely to want to remember that attempt under any circumstances. Particularly if he’s courting my mother… Did you ever get the money? You never told me.”
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
“Well, did you take your ill-gotten gains?”
“No. I’d never touch it in a million years.”
Rafe frowned. “Then you never saw Caps Galvano again?”
“I left that night, bag, baggage, and mare.”
“Curiouser and curiouser. But you’re sure you saw Caps Galvano at Sunbury?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly when?”
“The first night you took me out. He was standing by the exhibitor’s entrance to the grounds. He didn’t look at me.”
“But you passed close enough to him so that there’s no doubt in your mind that you saw Caps Galvano?”
“Have you met him? Well, then, you know that no two people could stand like that. Sort of S-shaped. And he was wearing a cap.”
Rafe grinned sourly. “Not that same houndstooth monstrosity?”
“No, it was gray, but the same style. I’ve never seen him without a cap.”
“Are you sure that Galvano didn’t recognize you?”
“Positive. His eyes sort of slid across my face and immediately away like… he couldn’t care less. I should have been warned then.”
Rafe turned the daiquiri glass around and around. “That complicates things, doesn’t it? Actually, Galvano always had a memory for money owed him and horses. Did he ever see your mare?”
“He must have. He was always hanging around the stables when Dad wasn’t there. He knew every horse Marchmount owned, and Phi Bete was stabled with them.”
“He’s one helluva long way from the West Coast, and there isn’t a racetrack near Sunbury. Unless he’s still running Marchmount’s errands for him.” Rafe sighed. “And while I don’t put it past Galvano to slit the girth or honk the horn, why the fire? Unless it’s not Galvano behind it. I certainly don’t see him as a murderer. He’s a sneak, a pimp, a bet welcher, and a stoolie-but a murderer? For what motive? Your father never had anything to do with him?”
“Of course not.”
He patted my hand reassuringly. “Michaels may be right, then-that you know something you don’t think you know.”
“And Marchmount is the murderer?”
Rafe brushed that notion aside with an impatient gesture. “Their appearance at Sunbury may just be a coincidence. Marchmount hasn’t had enough grip on reality to murder a fly; lechery is his style. Sorry. Now, look, Nialla, take a swig of your drink and let’s do some objective reviewing. Forget it was your father who was killed. Pretend you’re describing a TV play, one of those fraught with symbolism and allegory, so that every bit of the scenery is relevant to the script.”
I wanted to say that I’d been over every detail of that day with the police; I’d relived its horror a hundred sleepless nights, but I had no more chance of refusing Rafe’s request than the bay had of refusing a fence with him riding.
“Dad had been down at Tijuana with the racers. I was at college…”
“Marchmount hadn’t been winning much, had he?”
“No, but I know he wasn’t dissatisfied with Dad. He knew his previous man hadn’t been all that good. I don’t mean to say that Dad was so fabulous…”
“Russ Donnelly knew his flat racers, Nialla, and better still, he knew who to put on ‘em to win.”
“Honestly, he hadn’t much winner material in Mr. Marchmount’s stables when we got there. But there were four very promising three-year-olds, and Mr. Marchmount certainly acted pleased. I mean, I know he was backing his own colors heavily.”
“Hmmm, Too heavily?”
“Oh, I don’t know, Rafe. You know, Dad never talked much about the betting end of racing. You weren’t thinking that maybe it was a quarrel between Mr. Marchmount and Dad? It couldn’t’ve been, because Mr. Marchmount didn’t come back from Tijuana until the next afternoon. He couldn’t get a flight out.”
“And Galvano?”
“I don’t know when he got back. I didn’t see him until that night… that night I fell for his con game.”
“We digress. Let’s go back to your father returning from Tijuana.”
“Well, he called me just after I got back from my eleven-o’clock class and told me to come home. He wanted to talk to me right away.”
“You said he was furious.”
“He was absolutely seething with anger.”
“And Russ had a very high boiling point. But when he did get mad… What did he say?”
“That he wanted to talk to me and to come right home.”
“Nothing more?”
I shook my head. “There didn’t seem to be any need for more. I thought I’d be seeing him… in an hour, tops.”
“Of course, dear heart. Take a drink and go on. You drove home. How long did it take you?”
“At that time of day, just under an hour.”
“Then?”