Read The Alibi for Free Online Page B

and spotted her up above on the gallery. She
    waited until their eyes were fixed on her before starting
    her descent. She was barefoot and slightly disheveled,
    but she came down the staircase, her hand
    trailing along the railing, as though she were dressed
    in a ball gown, the princess of the evening, with humble
    subjects adoring her and paying homage. She had
    been born into a family at the epicenter of Charleston
    society. From both sides, she was of the noblesse
    oblige. She never forgot it, and she made certain no
    one else did, either.
    "Hello, Mrs. Pettijohn."
    "We don't have to stand on ceremony, do we,
    Rory?" She came to stand within touching distance
    and, tilting her head to one side, smiled up at him.
    "After all, we're practically kinfolk."
    She extended him her hand. His was dry and
    warm. Hers was slightly damp and very cold, and she
    wondered if he guessed that came from holding a
    tumbler of vodka.
    He released her hand and indicated the woman
    with him. "This is Stefanie Mundell."
    "Steffi," the woman said, aggressively thrusting
    her hand at Davee.
    She was petite, with short dark hair and dark eyes.
    Eager eyes. Hungry eyes. She wasn't wearing stockings
    even though she had on high-heeled pumps. To
    Davee that was a breach of etiquette more offensive
    than her own bare feet.
    "How do you do?" Davee shook Steffi Mundell's
    hand but released it quickly. "Are y'all selling tickets
    to the Policemen's Ball, or what?"
    "Is there someplace we can talk?"
    Concealing her uneasiness with a bright smile, she
    said, "Sure," and led them into the formal living
    room. The housekeeper, who had admitted the two
    before notifying Davee that she had guests, was moving
    about the room switching on lamps. "Thank you, Sarah." The woman, who was as large and dark as a
    mahogany armoire, acknowledged Davee's thanks,
    then left through a side door. "Can I fix y'all a
    drink?"
    "No, thank you," Smilow replied.
    Steffi Mundell also declined. "What a beautiful
    room," she said. "Such a wonderful color."
    "You think so?" Davee looked around as though
    assessing the room for the first time. "Actually, this is
    my least favorite room in the whole house, even
    though it does offer a lovely view of the Battery, and
    that's nice. My husband insisted on painting the walls
    this color. It's called terra-cotta and is supposed to be
    reminiscent of the villas on the Italian Riviera. Instead,
    it makes me think of football jerseys." Looking
    directly at Steffi and smiling sweetly, she added, "My
    mama always said that orange was a color for the
    common and coarse."
    Steffi's cheeks flamed with anger. "Where were
    you this afternoon, Mrs. Pettijohn?"
    "None of your goddamn business," Davee retorted
    without a blink.
    "Ladies." Smilow shot Steffi a stern look with a
    silent command behind it for her to shut up.
    "What's going on, Rory?" Davee demanded.
    "What are ya'll doing here?"
    Coolly, calmly, and deferentially, he said, "I suggest
    we all sit down."
    Davee held his gaze for several seconds, gave the
    woman a withering glance, then with a brusque gesture
    indicated the sofa nearest them. She sat down in
    an adjacent armchair.
    He began by telling her that this wasn't a casual
    call. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."
    She stared at him, waiting him out.
    "Lute was found dead late this afternoon. In the
    penthouse suite at the Charles Towne Plaza. It appears
    he was murdered."
    Davee kept her features carefully schooled.
    One never displayed too much emotion in public.
    It simply wasn't done.
    Holding emotions intact was a skill one naturally
    acquired when Daddy was a womanizer, and Mama
    was a drunk, and everybody knew the reason she
    drank, but everybody also pretended that there wasn't
    a problem. Not in their family.
    Maxine and Clive Burton had been a perfect couple.
    Both descended from elite Charleston families.
    Both were utterly gorgeous to look at. Both attended
    exclusive schools. Their wedding was a standard by
    which all