Celebrity in Death Read Free Page B

way you do. And I thought he must be in his office. It’s off the kitchen, with a view of the courtyard, because he likes looking out at our little garden when he works. And I saw him on the floor. I saw him, and he was dead.”
    “Did you touch anything? Anything in the kitchen?”
    “I touched Cecil. I took his hand. He was dead.”
    “Do you know anyone who’d want to hurt Cecil?”
    “No. No. Everybody loves Cecil.” With some drama, he pressed the soggy handkerchief to his heart. “I love Cecil.”
    “Who do you suppose he’d let in, while he was wearing only his robe?”
    “I …” Havertoe struggled to firm his trembling lips. “I think Cecil was having an affair. I think he’d been seeing someone.”
    “Why do you think that?”
    “He’d been late getting home a few times, and—there were signs.”
    “Did you confront him about it?”
    “He denied it.”
    “You argued?”
    “Every couple argues. We were happy. We made each other happy.”
    “But he was having an affair.”
    “A fling.” Havertoe dabbed at his eyes. “It wouldn’t last. Whoever he was seeing must have killed him.”
    “Who do you think he was seeing?”
    “I don’t know. A client? Someone he met at one of our events? We meet so many people. There’s a constant temptation to stray.”
    “You have an impressive home, Mr. Havertoe.”
    “We’re very proud of it. We often entertain. It’s what we do. It’s good promotion for the business.”
    “I guess that’s why you cleaned up the kitchen,” Eve said conversationally as Peabody came back in. “You didn’t want people to see the mess.”
    “I … what?”
    “Was Cecil fixing breakfast when you got in—earlier than he expected? Or had he finished? Were there signs he hadn’t been alone? Cheating on you when you were away. He was a very bad boy.”
    “He’s dead. You shouldn’t talk about him that way.”
    “What time did you get home again?”
    “I said—I think—about eleven.”
    “That’s odd, Mr. Havertoe,” Peabody said. “Because your shuttle landed at eight-forty-five.”
    “I—I had some errands—”
    “And the driver from Delux dropped you off at the door here at nine-ten.”
    “I … took a walk.”
    “With your luggage?” Eve angled her head. “No, you didn’t. You came in at nine-ten, and you and Cecil got into it while you—one of you or both—made coffee, fixed breakfast. You wanted to know who he’d been with while you were in Chicago. You wanted him to stop cheating on you. You argued, and you picked up the cast-iron skillet, swung out. You were so mad. All you’ve done for him and he can’t befaithful. Who could blame you for losing your temper. You didn’t mean to kill him, did you, Paul? You just lashed out—hurt and angry.”
    “I didn’t. You have the time wrong. That’s all.”
    “No, you got it wrong. You got home early. Did you think you might catch him with someone?”
    “No, no, it wasn’t like that. I wanted to surprise him. I wanted things to be the way they were. I fixed him his favorite brunch! Mandarin orange juice mimosas and hazelnut coffee, eggs Benedict with raspberry French toast.”
    “You went to a lot of trouble.”
    “Everything made by hand, and I set the table with his favorite china.”
    “And he didn’t appreciate it. All the time and effort you went to, just to do something special for him, and he didn’t appreciate it.”
    “I … then I went for a walk. I went for a walk, and when I came back he was dead.”
    “No, Paul. You argued, you hit him. It was like a reflex. You were so mad, so hurt, you just grabbed the skillet and swung out. And then it was too late. So you cleaned up the kitchen, put everything away.” While he lay there, dead on the floor, Eve thought. “You scrubbed the cast-iron skillet.” With his blood staining the bottom. “You made everything neat and tidy again, just the way he liked it.”
    “I didn’t mean to do it! It was an