“I know a little about the law. As his wife I can’t be called to testify against him. So tell me.” Her voice was soft, but demanding.

“Some evidence indicates he might be the last person to have seen this woman.”

“Like?”

“Fingerprints from a champagne glass matched his gun permit. A couple of his monogrammed shirts in her closet. His name and number in her address book. All the telltale signs of a relationship.”  Tom looked away and to the floor.

Genevieve could tell the delivery of this news caused her friend pain, unable to look at her, his voice had drawn to a whisper.

She put a hand on his shoulder. “Who is this woman?” As much as she wanted to relieve Tom’s anguish, Genevieve wasn’t going to admit she knew about Edward’s infidelity. She couldn’t afford to answer the questions that would follow. ‘Why don’t you leave him?’ And then the unspoken question, ‘Why does she tolerate that behavior?’

“Vicki Davenport. Know her?”

“No.” Genevieve fixed her gaze across the room. “Why do the police suspect foul play?”

“Her blood was splattered on the carpet in the bedroom, and on the sheets. They didn’t offer any more details. I’ll know more when forensics releases the evidence.” Tom took her hands in his. “But here is the more serious part. Several months ago another woman was reported missing. Same thing. Blood on the carpet, in the bedroom, etcetera. So they asked for your husband’s DNA.

“Look. I don’t think for a moment Ed is involved in the death of these women any more than you do. The circumstances just aren’t in his favor. But I’ll fix that.”

Tom’s confident smile was almost believable. Genevieve felt her eyes grow large and fill with tears.

He took her in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Genevieve.”

“I can’t believe Tom couldn’t have gotten me out of that place any quicker!” Edward forced the words from between tight lips and practically threw his coat at the butler.

“I just got off the phone with Margaret. She wants to see the both of us first thing tomorrow. The sooner we address this the better.” Genevieve folded her arms and watched her husband storm up the steps past her to the next landing where he abruptly turned to her.

“They don’t even have any bodies and yet they think they can accuse me of killing those girls! I haven’t seen Veronica in six months.” He took a step down, toward her. “And you might have tried to pull some strings.”

“I will help you tomorrow morning.”

He stabbed a finger at her. “If these woman are the victims of a serial killer, then it will just be matter of time before he kills again and it will be a woman I’ve never met. We won’t need any help from Margaret and her PR spin machine for everyone to know I’m not their man.”

She watched him climb the rest of the grand staircase and heard the heavy door to his lounge slam shut.

The overcast sky loomed over the sunroom where Genevieve enjoyed her afternoon tea and read grant proposals.

“Madame. The police would like to speak with you. A Detective Stockton.”

            She gently placed her cup and saucer on the table. “Send the detective in Eloise. Thank you.”

            Detective Stockton’s legs could stop traffic. Genevieve smiled inwardly. The last time she saw a female detective in a skirt was Officer Mary Beth Lacey, of ‘Cagney and Lacey’ TV fame.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Galbraith. I need to ask you some questions. This won’t take long.”

“Please sit down. Would you care for tea?” Before the detective could answer she had another cup half filled. The detective smiled and accepted.

“Do you know Veronica Sears?”

“Yes.”