“I don’t understand,” he said, either dense or pretending to be.
Realizing this was getting her nowhere fast, she decided to comestraight out with it and see how he reacted.
“We know why you and your friends come to this hotel,” she said flatly.“We don’t care about that. But you need to tell us what you were really doingduring the time that you weren’t drinking in the bar with Rich Ferro. It’s onething for us to know the truth. It’s another for you to tell it.”
She shut her mouth and waited, hopeful that her hunch was right andthat he’d buy the lie.
Steve Crewe stared silently at her so long that she became aware of the wavescrashing along the seawall not far behind her. They sounded like an audienceclapping before the stage performance was over.
“What are you accusing me of?” he asked carefully.
Peters jumped in.
“No one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Crewe,” he said. “But if youhappened to be engaged in behavior with someone other than your wife last night,behavior that might look bad to the media or your family in the wake of herdeath, we’re just saying that such behavior need not come to light if it servedto provide you with an alibi. Your son doesn’t have to ever know. But if you didengage in this behavior and chose to deny it, there isn’t much we can do toprotect your reputation. We’d have to investigate fully and detail our findingsin publicly available reports. We’d like to avoid that if possible. Wouldn’tyou?”
Crewe’s wounded expression turned to one of embarrassment, and thenresignation.
“Who told you?” he asked.
“That’s not important,” Jessie said, hoping to move quickly from thefinger-pointing stage to the fact-finding one. “Who were you with and when?”
Crewe lowered his head for a moment, apparently contemplating theenormity of what he was about to say. When he lifted it again, he began talkingquickly, as if speed would make what he said less objectionable.
“Before I came down to the bar, I met up with one of the manicurists inthe back room of the salon on the other side of the hotel. Her name is Grace. She’snew here and I—I wanted to try her out.”
Jessie managed to keep her expression blank, not wanting to reveal therevulsion she felt at the comment.
“What time was that?” Peters asked, moving straight past any blame tohone in on the relevant facts.
“I left the bar to meet her there at nine thirty. We finished up byten. I was back having drinks right after that.”
“Did Gabby know about your appointment?” Jessie wondered.
“She knew I would be busy from nine thirty to ten. We didn’t discussthe particulars but I think she figured it was Grace because I was flirtingwith her when I picked her up after her manicure in the afternoon.”
“And she was okay with it?” Jessie asked, needing to hear the wordseven though she knew that was the whole point of the thing.
“Ms. Hunt,” he entreated, “you have to understand. This lifestyle isn’tfor everyone. But it worked for us. Yes, she was okay with it. Sometimes weeven traded stories with each other. It was sexy for us. As long as everyonefollows the rules, everything works out.”
“What rules?” Peters asked.
“Well, there’s really only one. No intermingling amongst each other. Wehave this group that we’re all comfortable with. We have fun together and allshare this naughty little secret. But no one crosses that line. No one has sexwithin the group.”
“If you’re already swingers, why is that such a big deal?” Jessieasked.
“It’s one thing to have an encounter with a hotel employee who doesthis sort of thing, or a casual acquaintance or even a stranger. But we’refriends. We all live in the same neighborhood. We have barbecues at each other’shomes. Some of our kids play together. It would complicate matters if weinvolved sex. We’re a freethinking group, but that’s just asking for trouble.”
Jessie didn’t say out loud what was blaring in her head. If someone hadviolated the one rule of the group, it might be a pretty good motive for theperson who felt violated to act out, maybe even violently. Peters, who wasclearly on the same page, must have feared she was on the verge of sayingsomething because he interjected quickly.
“And this thing with Grace the manicurist was your only ‘encounter’last night? We heard that you were in and out of the bar quite a bit.”
“Sure I was,” Crewes replied, unconcerned. “I was drinking like a horseso I had to piss like one too. I was in and out of the bathroom all night. Ithink I came out here to the garden at one point too. You saw me. I was prettydrunk. I wasn’t keeping track of all my movements.”
“Were you keeping track of Gabby’s movements?” Jessie asked.
“What do you mean?” he said, suddenly far less blasé.
“I mean, do you know if your wife was with anyone last night?”
He took a moment to ponder the question. It seemed like the first timehe had.
“I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t know for sure. But she didn’t sayanything. Usually she’d give me a heads-up so I don’t come in the suite if she’sbusy. She didn’t do that. She did say she wasn’t feeling great. That’swhy she didn’t stick around at the bar that long. She told us she just needed alittle quiet time to herself.”
Jessie pictured Gabby Crewe going up to her suite feeling under theweather. It was possible that she’d just had too much to drink and felt unwell,though now that she thought about it, Jessie couldn’t remember anyone eversaying that Gabby actually drank anything that night.
If she hadn’t been drinking, that suggested it was possible that shealready knew she was pregnant and was abstaining. Maybe she was feeling theeffects of morning sickness. The pregnancy might also explain her sudden late-nightroom service order of steak, eggs, and toast. Of course, she
