“Not at lunch,” Jesse said.
“You’re actually staying here?” Stephanie said.
“Yep.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone who stayed here.”
R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“The poor sometimes have to travel,” Jesse said.
“Oh, yes. I’m sorry. I must have sounded so snooty.”
“A little snooty,” Jesse said. “We have a bit of new informa tion about the murders and we’re reinterviewing everyone.”
“What is your new information?” Stephanie said.
“We were wrong on the time of death. When is the last time you saw Mr. Weeks?”
“Oh God, I don’t know. A year? I mean, we were divorced a long time ago. We aren’t enemies, but we’re not pals. . . .”
Stephanie smiled faintly.
The waitress came with salads. Stephanie ordered a second martini.
“Goes good with salad,” Jesse said.
“Goes good with anything,” Stephanie said.
“Why the smile?” Jesse said. “When you said you weren’t pals?”
“Except once in a while,” Stephanie said. “We’re pals.”
“How so?”
Stephanie smiled again.
“Old times’ sake?” she said.
“What did you do?” Jesse said. “For old times’ sake.”
“Well,” Stephanie said. “Aren’t you nosy.”
“I’m the police,” Jesse said. “I’m supposed to be nosy.”
Stephanie colored a little. The waitress returned with her martini. She sipped it and took out an olive and ate that.
“Sometimes I think it’s all about the olives,” Stephanie said.
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H I G H P R O F I L E
“So what did you do, for old times’ sake?” Jesse said.
“Walton was in many ways a sexual athlete,” Stephanie said. “He never tired. He never ejaculated. He could do sex, it seems, forever.”
“Not always a bad thing,” Jesse said.
“Twice a year, it was good,” Stephanie said. “Not on a daily basis.”
