“Did he take anything with him?”
“A bottle of peppermint schnapps.”
“And what did you do after he left?”
Esme glanced over at her mother, reddening, then looked back at Yolie and shrugged once again, saying nothing.
Soave tilted his head at the actress curiously.
So did Yolie, who leaned forward a bit, her breasts jutting out over the table. “Esme, we believe that Tito died sometime between one-thirty and two. Were you at home at the time of his death?”
“Not really,” she answered in a quavering voice.
Now Martine was looking at her curiously, too.
“Esme, where were you?” Yolie persisted.
“Out,” she whispered.
“Out where?”
Esme sat there in pouty silence for a long moment before she turned to Des and said, “Do I have to answer that?”
“I would if I were you,” Des advised. “They’re going to find out eventually. Better all the way around if they hear it from you.”
“Well, okay,” Esme said reluctantly. “I was with a man.”
Martine glared at her with withering disapproval. “You’ve been seeing someone yourself?”
“Yes, Mommy,” she admitted guiltily. “After Tito split, I went to his place.”
“And you stayed there with him how long?” Yolie asked.
“Until maybe four in the morning.”
“What did you do then?”
“I went home.”
“What did you think when you got home and Tito wasn’t there?”
“I didn’t think anything. I took a shower and went to bed.”
“You weren’t worried about where he was?”
“No.”
“Who is this man, Esme?”
Again the actress turned to Des. “Do I have to say?”
“It’s kind of necessary, Esme. Tito’s death is still unexplained, and this man is in a position to vouch for you.”
“Well, if you say so…” Now Esme’s face broke into a naughty little smile. “It’s Jeffrey Wachtell.”
The composed beauty of Martine’s face instantly turned harsh and ugly. “Why, you little whore!” she cried out, smacking her daughter hard in the face.
Des grabbed Martine roughly by the wrists and yanked her to her feet. “Okay, we’re not having any of that in my house!”
“Yo, what the hell is this?” Soave wondered, baffled.
Esme scarcely reacted at all. Just sat there, unfazed, as her split lip started to ooze fresh blood. Clearly, this was someone who was used to getting hit. Des had encountered her share of female punchingbags before, but they were never rich, pretty, and white. In this regard, Esme was a first for her.
“Why did you come back?!” Martine screamed at her daughter, struggling in Des’s grasp. She was a handful, amazingly strong. “You could have gone anywhere in the world-why did you have to come here?!”
“Yolie, want to get her an ice cube and a towel?” Des said as she muscled Martine toward the French doors.
“Got it,” Yolie said, springing into action.
“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?! You wanted to hurt me!”
“What if I did?” Esme shot back, sneering at her.
“You are sick!”
“Well, you ought to know!”
“Okay, let’s take it outside,” ordered Des, hustling Martine out onto the deck.
Soave followed them out there. “So, what, they’re both boinking this guy Jeff?” he asked, stroking his former mustache.
“So it would seem,” Des replied, as Martine began to pace back and forth across the deck, hugging herself, utterly distraught.
“Who is this guy, the stud of the century?”
“Rico, I truly don’t know how to respond to that.”
He went back inside now, shaking his head. Des stayed with Martine. It felt warm and muggy out there after the coolness of the house.
“How could she do this to me, Des?” Martine sobbed as she continued to pace. “My own daughter-how could she?”
“When you told me about Dodge you didn’t tell me that you were seeing someone else, too.”
Martine stopped in her tracks. “You sound disappointed.”
Des said nothing to that, just gazed at her.
“Our marriage is not exactly healthy these days,” Martine confessed. “Dodge goes his way and I go my mine. Jeffrey is… not exactly Brad Pitt, I’ll grant you. But he’s funny and he’s sweet and he’s the most attentive lover I’ve ever been with. He bathes me. He reads Emily Dickinson to me by candlelight. He licks whipped cream from between my-”
“Really don’t need to hear this part,” Des growled.
“Do you have any idea what that’s like after twenty-six years of Dodge?” Martine demanded. “Twenty-six years of wham-bam-good-night-ma’am? Jeffrey makes me feel like me again. And that sick little bastard has been having it off with my own damned daughter this whole time. I will hurt him for this. I will make a bow tie of his balls and-”
“Martine, I wouldn’t say things like that in front of me.”
“You’re absolutely right,” she said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to make threatening remarks. I’m just so hurt. I know exactly why she did it, too. To get back at me.”
“For what?”
Martine’s face darkened, but she didn’t answer. Just went over to the railing and faced the lake, her back to Des, posture rigid.
Des studied her there for a long moment. “Martine, were you and Dodge home in bed together when Tito died?”
“I do believe I can see Bella from here,” she said, shading her eyes with her hand. “That fierce little bowling ball of a person striding along the footpath at the edge of the water. See her?”
“If Esme was with Jeff when it happened…”
“It means that I wasn’t,” Martine acknowledged. “I was home.”
“Was Dodge home with you?”
“It’s very pleasant out here, isn’t it?” Martine said evasively. “Still, I would have thought there’d be a bit more breeze coming off of the water.”
Yolie came out there now to tell them she was done with Esme. Martine asked if she could take her daughter home. Yolie said she could, but only after the lady solemnly promised to behave herself.
Yolie remained with Des after Martine had gone inside. “Girl, is this your idea of better manners? Because I can get this for free back in the projects morning, noon, or night.”
“I was as surprised as you were.”
“Word, did I just choke in there?” she asked, glancing at Des uncertainly.
“No, not at all. It’s all okay.”
“But you took the ball out of my hands. How come?”
Des kept quiet. It wasn’t her place to criticize Sgt. Yolie Snipes.
But Yolie wasn’t having that. “Please tell me,” she pleaded. “I’m not on my home court here. And I get, like, no help from Soave when it comes to how to behave.”
“Well, okay,” Des said. “You were moving in for the kill, which is fine. But you didn’t see that she was on the verge of wigging, which isn’t fine. That’s a delicate young performer in there. She just lost her husband. If you’d kept at her one minute longer, she would have shut down on you completely.”
“Kinder and gentler is not my style.”
“I’m not saying it should be. Do what works for you. Keep the funk alive. Just keep an eye on your subject’s temperature gauge, too. Know when to back off.”
“Yeah, I can be a raw dog sometimes,” Yolie admitted, nodding her head. “Especially when I’m uptight. I mean, she’s so famous and all. Only, why did she say that to me about my cheek?”
“She’s an actress. Everything in her world is make-believe. Pay no attention. You’re doing fine.”
“Real?”
“Real.”
“Big thanks,” Yolie said gratefully. “Ready to go?”
“Go where?” asked Des, frowning.
“Interviews. Soave wants you along, since you know the people.”
“Okay, sure.” Des started back inside, then stopped. “Oh, hey, you didn’t give up anything to the tabloids yesterday about Mitch, did you?”
“Who, me?” Yolie let out a huge laugh. “Not even. Soave won’t let me anywhere near the press. ‘One voice, one message,’ he always says. Between us, I think Tawny’s on the receiving end of a big happy whenever that little man sees himself on television. Why are you asking?”