killed his own brother.’
‘The note said Corey’s death was an accident.’
‘I still don’t believe it.’ She stalked around the yard in a circle, burning nervous energy. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Why? Why not?’
‘Because he was a genuinely sweet guy. He was. I can look at him the same way I look at you and know you couldn’t kill someone.’
‘We never, ever know people exactly the way they are.’
Velvet shook her head. ‘I want to see this note.’
‘The police and the Hubbles haven’t released it to the press yet.’ He watched her fidget. ‘I don’t think I can get you a copy. I’m sorry. Velvet.’
‘His damned family. They’ll say Pete was a murderer and a suicide. I mean, why not kick him when he’s dead?’ She crossed her arms. ‘Don’t you have autopsy results yet, anything to contradict that stupid note?’
He wasn’t about to disclose Liz Contreras’s findings, not yet. ‘Nothing yet.’ He paused. ‘Tell me about Junior Deloache.’
She crossed her arms. ‘Junior? What’s to tell?’
‘I understand he wants to be in movies.’
To his surprise she laughed. ‘Honey, I couldn’t sell tickets to Junior. The biscuit, shall we say, lacks yeast.’
‘He says Pete promised him.’
‘Only if Junior bought his way in.’
‘You mean, an actor pays you?’
‘Not exactly. I’ve known investors who’ve wanted to come watch the shoots or take some photos of their own. Or screw a starlet, if she didn’t mind. But never while the camera was rolling.’
Whit studied her. ‘Pimping for investors. What does that have to do with love and happiness and all that stuff you whacked me with at lunch, pray tell? Doesn’t that make you just a glorified madam?’
‘Life is a tough business.’
‘And you’re running right back into the sleaze.’
‘What am I supposed to do, Whit? Put down roots here in Pleasantville?’
‘Why not make this film about Corey that you and Pete planned?’
She stared. ‘Without Pete? I don’t think so. Plus, the purse is empty. He hadn’t gotten the financing.’
‘Any excuse will do, right, as long as you can make more porno crap.’
‘This crap is what I do, and I tend to be quite good at it.’ She stepped closer to him. ‘Would you like to experience how good? We could do a tape together, never release it in the U.S. Distribute it in Asia only. No one here would ever know.’
He didn’t say anything for ten seconds, and she laughed. ‘No smart answer? Whit, under all that assurance you’re such a white-bread boy. If I took you on, you’d be toast.’
‘And if I took you on, maybe I could help you get out of the pit you’re in. Deep in your heart you know porn’s wrong. You know. I can tell you do.’
‘I don’t. I’m not one bit debased. I’m superior to any man who pays money for my tapes. And the last thing I need or want is a white knight to bring me a new set of morals. Mine are just fine,’ she said. ‘I don’t tell you what you do is wrong. Let me guess why you’re still living at home at your advanced age. Your stepmother’s charms?’
‘No.’
‘Whit, you’re a sweet man. But you look at me like a street whore maybe your church could sponsor. I like my life as it is.’
‘I like you, period, and I don’t want to see you ruin your life.’
‘It’s mine to ruin, as you put it.’
‘If I rule for suicide, what are you gonna do?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know. Does that note mention his career?’
‘Not directly.’
‘If it wasn’t for Sam… I’d blast Lucinda Hubble with Pete’s career in every paper I could.’
‘Why do you hate her so?’
‘Because, Whit, she hated her own kids. Pete told me once his mother treated him and Corey like stagehands in her great play of life. Faith should have been Lucinda’s kid. She seems to relish the role of Little Miss Macbeth. If Lucinda won’t stand by Pete when he’s dead, I ought to hit her exactly where it hurts. With the voters.’
‘Vendettas don’t get you far.’
‘They get you far enough.’ She got in her car.
Whit stood in the yard, in the twilight, and watched her go.
‘Excitable thing, isn’t she?’ a voice called to him, coming across the yard. Whit turned and saw Buddy Beere, dressed in a suit the color of a stale brownie and thick-knotted polyester tie, clutching a sheaf of campaign flyers.
‘Hi,’ Whit said.
‘Hi, Whit. Hope you don’t mind me canvassing your neighborhood. Just out meeting the voters.’
‘Well, I suppose if you haven’t grown up and known most of the voters all your life, you need to campaign.’ He felt extraordinarily peevish, and the sight of Buddy, in his lumpy suit and sweaty brow and dork’s tie, only irritated him.
Buddy didn’t rise to the bait. ‘If it makes you feel better, two houses on the street already said they were voting for you.’ Considering there were at least fifteen houses, Whit saw the jab.
‘Thanks.’
‘That was Pete Hubble’s girlfriend, right?’ Buddy asked. ‘You still chasing her?’
‘Part of the inquest is gathering information on the deceased. To do that you have to talk to the bereaved. You’ll have to learn that if you win.’ Suddenly he was tired of arguing and jousting with this little man so determined to take his job away.
‘Good night. Buddy.’
Buddy rolled his remaining flyers into a cylinder. ‘Whit? One question. Did you have to buy your robe, or did the county buy it for you? I just want to be sure I get the right size.’
26
Claudia called Whit on his cell phone before she collapsed in bed, giving him an update on what she’d found in the Corey Hubble case file. He told her about the autopsy results and the bad bagging.
‘You’ll really have to discuss this with Delford,’ she said. ‘Out of my hands now.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Whit said. ‘Delford’s being unfair.’
‘Well, let Gardner handle it,’ she said. ‘Apparently the lesson learned here is that the Hubbles warrant special treatment.’ She paused. ‘Gardner did do the tests on the note. There were two sets of prints. Pete’s and Sam’s.’
‘I guess that settles that,’ Whit said.
Driving to the Cafe Caspian, Whit watched gleaming lights dot the harbor: fishing boats, pleasure boats, the restaurants by the piers that jutted into the bay. His cell phone buzzed as he pulled up in front of the darkened cafe.
‘I understand you are Sam’s confessor.’ Faith sounded hoarse and worn. ‘He says you were very good to him. Thank you, Whit.’ Less frosty than when she’d stormed from the guest house.
‘You’re welcome. How are y’all doing?’
‘Sam is still upset, and of course Lucinda is having to deal with Pete’s confession.’
‘You talk to me like you’re talking to the press.’
‘Do I? I guess so. I’ve got spin doctors from Austin coming out of my ass. Forgive me. Sam is devastated.
