Her Best Defense. Jackie/Lori Merritt/Myles

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СКАЧАТЬ smile faded as she walked from Larry’s domain to her own. As she entered her office, the phone began ringing. She picked it up and said, “Lisa Jensen.”

      “Well, and how do you like being the center of attention?”

      It was John Ludlow. Lisa’s heart sank. “I had nothing to do with that article, Mr. Ludlow.”

      “From its tone, I’m sure you didn’t. Do you have any idea who did?”

      “None whatsoever.”

      “Journalists are persistent busybodies, Lisa, but they can also be extremely helpful at times. The byline on the article is the name J.D. Fields. Do you know him or her?”

      “No, but maybe I should meet him or her. What do you think?”

      “In good time, Lisa, in good time. Leave it lie for now. It’s too soon. You don’t have a solid case for your client yet. When you do, perhaps before trial, perhaps immediately following, the opportunity will arise for you to set your worth before the public.”

      “My worth?”

      “Don’t sound so down in the mouth, Lisa. The firm knows your worth, and so should you.”

      She felt the burden of her job suddenly increase tenfold upon her shoulders. Had Ludlow intended to remind her of her responsibility to the firm, or had his compliment been genuine?

      God, did she know anything for certain anymore? Everything and everyone seemed to have a dozen sides.

      She chose to accept Ludlow at face value. “Thank you for the call,” she said quietly. “I have an appointment with Glory Witherington and must leave soon if I’m to be on time.”

      “Good, glad to hear it. Forget that article and have a good day, Lisa.”

      She put down the telephone, took her things and departed her office, the firm and the Ridge Building. A long breath of fresh air helped clear her head, and she set off for the Witherington mansion with renewed determination.

      Chapter 5

      At the Westbrook Depot, Lisa detrained and hailed a cab for the rest of her journey into the land of wealth and privilege. She was amazed at the size of what people called houses in this neighborhood. Each estate she passed seemed grander than the last. Each “house” was surrounded by tall rock or block walls covered in greenery, with only the roofs showing above them. The actual homes could only be glimpsed through security gates that allowed visitors access to the grounds—by invitation only, of course. The Witherington mansion was no exception. The only difference between that stunning property and others in the neighborhood was the herd of reporters camped out on the street in front.

      “Does someone famous live here?” the cab driver asked.

      “In a manner of speaking,” Lisa said dryly. “Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

      “I’ll do my best.”

      The cab driver pulled up to the gate so that Lisa could speak through the intercom system that was connected to the house, her picture being snapped all the while her head was stuck out of the backseat window. Soon the gate swung open, and the drive up to the main house began. Lisa, trying to ignore the barrage of flashes and reporters shouting questions, took note of the absence of a keypad anywhere near the gate so that a code could be entered to gain entrance onto the estate grounds. That meant that each car coming in either had to be admitted by way of the intercom or had to be outfitted with some sort of device similar to a garage door opener. She made a mental note to ask Glory how many of these devices they owned and in whose possession they might be. Did she pass them out to prospective and current boyfriends, for instance?

      The driveway was long and U-shaped. Near the house, the place where Mateo’s body had been found was cordoned off by yellow crime scene tape, and a chalk outline was still visible on the pavement and grass. What appeared to be bloodstains also remained.

      “What the hell happened here, lady?” the cabbie asked. “Hey, is this the place where that rich broad murdered her boyfriend? Is that why all those reporters are out there?”

      Oh, the power of the press, Lisa thought. To the driver she said nothing. She just threw some money at him and climbed out of the backseat.

      “You want me to come back later and get you?” he asked, as she walked up to the large, elaborate front doors.

      “I’ll call if I need you,” Lisa threw over her shoulder.

      “Ask for Danny White,” he yelled out the window.

      Lisa nodded but didn’t turn around. She was too interested in the crime scene at the moment and she certainly didn’t want the cab driver hanging around any longer than necessary, asking her questions she wasn’t going to answer. Soon she heard the cab moving back down the driveway.

      Lisa rang the bell. In moments, one of the ornate doors opened and she found herself looking at a young Hispanic woman who appeared to be still in her teens.

      “Are you Maria?” she asked.

      “Oh, no,” the young woman said with a heavy accent. “Maria no feel well.”

      “That will be all, Connie.” Glory seemed to appear out of thin air behind the young woman. “Come in, Lisa. Is this going to take long?” There was blatant impatience in her voice.

      “It will take as long as it takes, Glory,” Lisa said, managing to keep the edge out of her voice. Obviously Glory was still planning on her tennis match, as she was dressed in a sleeveless white sweater with a long-sleeved white sweater wrapped around her shoulders, a white sweatband on each wrist, a pair of white tennis shoes and a short, short white skirt. Lisa couldn’t help wondering how she managed to have such a good tan at this time of year. Probably a tanning salon, but maybe she’d spent a month in the Caribbean. Oh, the advantages of great wealth, she thought with an inner sigh.

      “Fine,” Glory huffed as she walked Lisa into a room that was easily recognizable as a library because of all of the beautifully bound books lining the walls. “We can sit in here.”

      The room was exquisite; the whole house was beautiful. Spectacular, actually. Lisa had been in extraordinary homes before, but none quite like the Witherington mansion.

      “Have a seat. Over there by the fireplace,” Glory said with a careless wave of her hand.

      The fireplace was without flame or heat, neither of which was needed for temperature or atmosphere during this rather strained meeting. Not that it should be strained, Lisa thought, telling herself again, as she had on the train, to overlook Glory’s grating personality and behave with grace and unruffled professionalism.

      Lisa chose one of the butter-soft leather chairs and set her briefcase down on the carpet next to it, thinking that Glory would immediately join her. Instead, Glory approached a few steps and asked, “What would you like to drink?”

      “I would love a glass of cold water.”

      “Now that’s exciting,” Glory drawled, and turned away to head over to the bar that Lisa had noticed, albeit with very little interest.

      Now she took full note of it. The bar and six stools СКАЧАТЬ