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  Esther gave me a sparkly eyed glance. “Not at all. I’d love to get another look at him.”

  I handed my coat back to Wendy. “Do you call him, or do I?”

  “You do it. I already bugged him once today.”

  I took out my cell and wandered into Esther’s hallway, then dialed Parker from a shadowy, Christmas tree–scented corner.

  “Parker.”

  “Jay.”

  “Hey, partner.” His voice was warm and affectionate, so much so that my stomach started doing weird things. “Do you have anything good for me today?”

  I was briefly tempted to make a comment filled with innuendo, but it wasn’t the time or the place. “Yeah—Brad Whitefield and Isabel Beauchamp were having an affair. And it was she who was going to be accompanying him to Hawaii, not his wife.”

  There was a pause, and then Parker said, “Okay—how do we know this?”

  “Trust me—you’re going to want to see this for yourself.”

  * * *

  As always, Parker seemed to defy time and speed limits. He arrived at around five o’clock, and we ushered him straight to Mark and the computer. Mark ran through his spiel again, explaining Kingdoms. Esther managed to hold a plate of food under Parker while he listened, and Parker proceeded to devour Esther’s delicacies with his mouth while he took in the screen before him.

  After a while he started firing questions at Mark, some of which, I was proud to note, were the same questions I’d asked. Wendy noticed, too, and gave me a thumbs-up. I really liked Wendy.

  Finally Parker sat back, stretched, and looked at me. “You’re brilliant,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You noticed the rings long ago. We never would have noted them here if you hadn’t seen them on the actual people. That’s crucial, Lilah.”

  Wendy gave me another furtive thumbs-up.

  Parker was solemn. “Despite all of this evidence, though, we can’t prove any of it.”

  “There was something else,” I said, remembering. I turned to Wendy. “Do you remember that when we all had lunch at the pub, Cleo said that she and Brad had been planning to go to Hawaii? Right then Isabel spilled her water, and everyone was distracted, and we didn’t talk about it again.”

  “That’s true,” Wendy said. “You think Isabel did it on purpose, as a distraction?”

  “Or because she couldn’t bear to hear another woman talking about her vacation.”

  “Aw, man,” Mark said. “I didn’t know all of this. I must be the dumbest person in the world.”

  I swung back to him. “You’re telling me you didn’t know Brad was having an affair?”

  Mark shrugged. “Well—no. Cleo was my friend, too, and Brad really loved her. Sometimes the three of us would go out for pizza. She called me when she heard about Brad. I was trying to calm her down for an hour.”

  “Okay. What about Amoura?” I said.

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand the game. Lovers in the game aren’t necessarily lovers. They’re alliances. I mean, it’s true, you could fall in love with an alliance, the same way a person could fall in love with an e-mail pen pal or something. I never really thought of Amoura as a real lover. I just figured it was a friend of Brad’s who wanted in on the game somehow. Brad had so many friends. I’m not kidding—like hundreds of them. He had so much charisma.”

  Mark faced the three of us, his expression earnest, and saw our skepticism. Then he bowed. “Oh man. I need to spend more time with real human beings.”

  “I thought you had a girlfriend,” I said.

  “I do. But I met her in Kingdoms, and we—do a lot of our interacting there,” he said.

  “You have . . . met her in real life, haven’t you?” I asked.

  Mark and Esther laughed. “Yeah. Mom’s met her, too.”

  “Her name is Rebecca. She’s lovely,” Esther said.

  Parker was looking impatient, which was his specialty. “I actually spoke to Isabel Beauchamp today. She denied any involvement with Brad Whitefield, aside from being in a play with him.”

  “She’s lying,” I said.

  “Looks that way,” Parker said to the room in general. Then he turned to me. “You figured this out. Want to be there when I question her again? I could use your knowledge of all this.”

  This was new. Parker inviting me inside some police work? I was both shocked and flattered. “Yeah, I do.”

  I had one more question for Mark, though. “Wait—when you talked to Cleo—did she seem to know about Isabel?”

  “What? No—I didn’t even know about Isabel. I only knew her as Amoura.”

  “So you don’t think she knew that Brad was having an affair?”

  “No. But I suppose other people could have known. I mean, you figured it out.”

  This made Parker look thoughtful. He took one more of Esther’s hors d’oeuvres, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed with an appreciative expression. “Thank you. I didn’t have time to eat much today,” he said. Poor Parker. He never seemed to eat while he was working on a case.

  We bid farewell to Esther and Mark (Jim was still mysteriously missing, and I suspected Christmas shopping) and made our way to the door.

  In the driveway, Parker turned to Wendy. “You were in on this good police work, too, and you’ve been doing a great job as Lilah’s protection. You’re absolutely welcome to sit in on this interview, or you can have some well-earned home time.”

  I couldn’t read anything in Wendy’s expression, but I sensed calculation, and on my behalf. “You know what? I’d love some home time. I appreciate it. Just call when you need me to return to Lilah’s. Meanwhile I can have dinner with family.”

  “Sure thing,” Parker said. “Lilah? We have some work to do.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Isabel lived in Trenton Tower, one of the tallest buildings in Pine Haven. It was mostly full of condominiums, although there were businesses on the first couple of floors. Parker and I headed straight through a plush lobby with piped-in Christmas music (the current song was an instrumental version of “Pat-a-Pan”). In one alcove near the elevator was a particularly ugly Santa Claus figurine; Parker turned to smirk at me, and I laughed.

  “I should arrest them for that,” he said.

  I followed him, realizing with a burst of euphoria that he was being playful on my behalf.

  We climbed on the elevator; Parker was glancing at some notes on his phone, but then he put it in his pocket, smiled at me, and touched my hair. “Hey,” he said.

  Before I could respond, the door opened and I was following a newly focused and brisk Parker down a blue-carpeted hallway to a door that bore the gold numbers 612. He knocked.

  “Who is it?” said Isabel’s voice after a moment.

  “It’s Detective Parker of the Pine Haven Police.”

  The door swung open, and Isabel stood there, lovely and petite in a red sweater and black velvet pants, and dwarfed by her cloud of hair. “Detective, I believe you just left here?” She was very adept with her facial expressions; currently she projected both indignation and confusion.

  “And I believe you lied to me,” Parker said curtly. “May I come in? Or would you like to talk at the station?”

  Her eyes flew to me, the unknown in this equation. “What is she doing here?”

  “Lilah provided some information, and I need her to be present for verification purposes.”

  Isabel’s eyes had been darting around while he talked; now her face changed again and she seemed to be aiming for a playful, flirtatious attitude. “Oh, come in, then.” She stood aside, and we walked into an elegant main room filled with expensive-looking furniture. I wondered what sort of money she made. I recalled Parker saying, The origin of people’s money is always a mystery.

  “Please sit down,” she said, although her tone sai
d, Please go away.

  Parker and I sat on her couch together; she faced us in a plush blue armchair.

  “I wonder, Miss Beauchamp, if you would like to change your story regarding your relationship with Brad Whitefield.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Her eyes were large in her small face.

  “Explain the rings that you and Brad Whitefield wore on your pinkie fingers. The ring you still wear, I see.”

  Her eyes widened, and she looked down at the ring on her hand, then back up at Parker. Her expression was suddenly helpless. “My ring has personal value. It’s not for public discussion.”

  Parker stared her down, but not without gentleness. “If the ring means you were sleeping with Brad Whitefield, then that is not a secret you will be able to keep any longer. I am investigating a murder, Miss Beauchamp, and affairs often provide motive.”

  Now her eyes seemed to be the only thing on her face. They were sky blue, bright and compelling. “I was not—having an affair. What we had was deeper than that. It was not about sex. We were soul mates.”

  “Did you sleep with him?”

  She shrugged. “No. We had kissed, many times, in the real world, but—”

  “But you had done more in GrandIsle,” Parker said.

  Her mouth dropped open, and then she shut it and shook her head. “You know about Kingdoms. Aren’t you a good detective.”

  Parker sent me a glance, acknowledging my work. Then he turned to her. “Did Mrs. Whitefield know of the affair?”

  She shook her head. “I told you—it wasn’t an affair. Brad loved his wife. He wanted to stay with her. But he needed me, because I spoke to something higher in him.”

  I scowled. That was a mighty flimsy excuse to see someone behind your wife’s back. Parker’s face expressed the same skepticism.

  Isabel sighed. “You have to understand. Brad liked his wife when he married her, very much. But he wasn’t in love with her. He was persuaded to marry her by her family, who thought that Brad would benefit from the—alliance.”

  I sat up straight. “Just like in Kingdoms—Thrivven married his queen for trade routes to her kingdom. What exactly did marrying Cleo do for Brad?”

  “It wasn’t quite so crass. He thought he could make a life with her. But he had a certain—weakness—and her family said that they would help him with it. If he became a member of the family.”

  “Gambling,” I said.

  “Yes. Cleo and her wealthy family knew of Brad’s addiction. She loved him; all women love him, I think. But they promised Brad a sense of security that I think he truly valued. And yet, he found he could rarely talk to Cleo. Brad was a man of great intellect, a philosopher. He had two advanced degrees. Cleo had only graduated high school. Often he wanted to talk to her about acting, or about Shakespeare, or about the various theories of life and death, and she—was limited as a conversational partner. This is why I say that Brad and I were not really lovers as much as we were—companions. We loved to talk together; we could do it for hours and hours, and not just about the play that we were in. We could talk about anything. It was effortless with us. Brad introduced me to Kingdoms so that we would have more chances to talk without his wife growing jealous or suspicious. We needed each other.” She held up her finger, where the hematite ring gleamed under the ceiling light. “Brad said that this was a symbol of Thrivven’s bond with Amoura. But what it really meant was that we were joined for life.”

  “Was the Hawaiian vacation for you?” Parker asked.

  She bowed her head. “Yes. We were going to talk about our lives—should we stay as we were, should Brad divorce his wife, or was there some other way to accommodate our need for each other.”

  “So why did Cleo think it was her vacation?”

  “She found the tickets at home. Brad was careless. So he had to say that they were for him and her. He still had not decided—would he take Cleo, or run off on a vacation with me and explain to Cleo later? The latter was not very likely; he was intimidated by Cleo’s family, and he did not want to hurt her more than was necessary.”

  I lifted a finger. “But he told me that he was escaping. He said he had found his own little island of escape.”

  Isabel nodded. “Then perhaps he was planning to go alone. Brad was trying to work through some things. Not just about me, but about life. I think that Prospero was a life-changing role for him. It made him think of higher things. It made him examine his own life. But more and more he felt—constrained. Trapped. And I don’t mean by women. He loved women. Perhaps more by his flaws and limitations.”

  This didn’t sound right to me. “Everyone we talk to speaks about Brad’s specialness—how talented he was, and how creative. How he seemed to exceed other people’s talents.”

  “Yes,” said Isabel sadly. “But people like Brad are the people who feel they are not good enough, do not reach high enough. They want only to achieve more.” She stood up and walked to a little Christmas tree that sat in front of her window. It was only about three feet tall, but it was decorated with pretty, delicate ornaments, some of which looked imported. She saw me looking at the tree and pulled off one of the ornaments. It was a little fairy, a three-inch doll dressed in gold, with long blonde hair. On its dress were painted the words Delicate Ariel.

  “Brad bought this for me, and added the words. He loved that we could interact onstage each night, especially in those roles. You see, Prospero and Ariel were not lovers—he was a man, and Ariel was of the elements. But theirs was a marriage of the minds. Like Brad’s and mine.”

  Parker and I exchanged a glance. Isabel was very convincing, but the story didn’t seem real. Didn’t most people want sex from an affair? Or did they, perhaps, want something more?

  “So if Brad had gone to Hawaii alone—would that have upset his wife and her family?”

  Isabel shrugged. “Probably not. He’s asked Cleo before for these little retreats. Sometimes he wanted to go away to be alone—and he really was alone. I think his reputation as a philanderer was unearned. People often assumed he was off with women, but Brad wasn’t a two-timer. No, not even with me. At least, not in the traditional sense.”

  Parker said, “If Brad wasn’t your lover, do you have one?”

  She blushed. “I am—seeing someone, yes.”

  “And was he jealous of what you have with Brad?”

  “I think that he understood. I think I made it clear to him. He didn’t always like it, but—now he will not have to like it anymore.” Her eyes were so sad that I felt ready to cry.

  Parker took out a pad. “I’ll need his name, Isabel.”

  Her eyes darted to mine, where she saw sympathy. Then she shrugged. “His name is Dylan Marsh.”

  I gasped, and Parker jotted it down. “Marsh got Brad’s role, and he got his girlfriend back.”

  “Dylan had nothing to do with it,” Isabel said wearily. “Believe me. He loved Brad, as a friend.”

  I had a sudden thought. “Is Dylan Count Fury?”

  She looked at me with her uncanny blue eyes. “What? No. I don’t think so. We don’t actually know who Count Fury is.”

  “What did he always want to talk about with Thrivven?” Parker asked.

  “I don’t know. Brad didn’t want to talk about that. Here’s something you need to know about Brad: he kept confidences. People seem to be maligning him left and right, calling him a gambler, a cheater. But he was a good man.”

  Parker tapped his pen on his pad, thinking. Isabel looked more frail than she had when we had entered the room.

  “Isabel?” I said. “I suppose no one has said this to you, but I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  She sat up straight, her eyes impossibly wide, and then she burst into tears. I moved to the couch and offered a tentative hug, and she threw herself into my arms and cried elaborately on my shoulder. Parker looked startled and
uncomfortable, and made a point of jotting lots of notes until the scene was over.

  Finally Isabel was dabbing her eyes and telling us to please forgive her. She sent me a grateful glance. “I appreciate what you said. More than you know. . . .”

  Parker stood up. “And we appreciate the information. Please don’t talk to Mr. Marsh until I’ve had a chance to do so. And one more thing—I need the name of Cleo’s family. I’ll be wanting to interview them all.”

  Isabel, looking distracted, was trying to put her hair back in place. “Oh, it’s a big family, and they’re all over the city. Her maiden name was Donato. Cleo Donato.”

  For a moment we stood and stared at her, suspended in time. Then Parker was swearing under his breath, and he was on the phone before the door had closed behind us.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Parker sat in his car, shouting into his phone and demanding that all the Donatos be brought into the station for questioning. “I want them all,” he shouted. “Enrico, his son Tony, whatever other kids he has, and what’s Enrico’s brother’s name? Vincent? That’s what she told us Cleo’s father is called. All of them, and whatever other Donatos you can find in the woodwork.” Then he clicked off and fumed for a while. “Not once, not once, did that old man mention that Cleo was his niece,” Parker said.

  “His son did mention something. He said that Brad was family. But I thought he was just speaking in an Italian, abbondanza kind of way.”

  “What?”

  “You know—like that old commercial? It’s like a welcoming generosity, or abundance or something. Anyway, I didn’t think he meant it literally.”

  “A sin of omission,” Parker said darkly. “He could have been much clearer. And now we have another one in the mix: Cleo’s father, Vince.”

  He started the car and pulled away from the curb. His jaw was set, his eyes narrowed. Parker did not like to be crossed. “I’ll take you home, Lilah. I already called Wendy and asked her to meet us at your place.”

  “Parker?”

  “Yeah.”