Page 54 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

“I remember her because she ordered two drinks at a time. Not two of the same like most folks. She took ’em over to that table there.” He pointed to a booth of tufted black leather surrounded by mirrors, then grabbed a towel and swabbed the top of the bar. “Had herself a Cosmo and a . . . martini, I think. Yeah. Sat there and waited for someone . . . well, I assume it was someone . . . sat there and drank and smoked and spent her time looking at the door or the mirror . . . I mean, I didn’t pay a lot of attention when it got busy. She left after a while.”

Reed glanced at the booth. “You remember what time she arrived?”

The bartender grimaced. Rubbed harder at a ring on the bar. “Let’s see. I think it was after the band came on at nine . . . maybe even after the first set . . . I’m not sure. Like I said, things were starting to hop around here, but I think she hung around for a while. Can’t be sure how long . . . No, wait, the band was taking a break so it should of been ten-thirty, maybe a quarter to eleven. That’s their usual routine.”

“Did she talk to anyone?”

“I don’t know. She’s a good-lookin’ woman. I imagine someone might have tried to hit on her, but . . . hey, I don’t kee

p track of that kind of thing. I just remember looking up and catching her reflection in the mirror. She was sitting and smoking a cigarette. Then I lost track. It got crazy in here that night. Always does on Friday nights.”

“If you think of anything else, call me,” Reed said and left his card as he and Morrisette walked outside, where sunlight cut through the narrow streets.

“So she was here.” Morrisette unlocked the cruiser.

“For a while.”

“But she had time to do the deed and return.”

“Seems as if.” She slid behind the wheel as Reed strapped himself in on the passenger side.

“Bandeaux’s place isn’t too far from here. Let’s time it,” Reed suggested, “and go easy on the speed, okay? Caitlyn Bandeaux had downed a couple of drinks but, unless she’d been drinking before, should have been clearheaded enough not to want to be pulled over or attract any attention, so she would have obeyed the speed limits, driven to his house, shared a glass or two of wine with him to numb him.”

“Or throw him into anaphylactic shock. Then slip him a mickey, slit his wrists and hightail it back to the bar. To make sure she had an alibi.”

“Yeah . . .” Reed wasn’t certain. Morrisette pulled away from the curb and he checked his watch. She somehow managed to keep her speed right at the limit and didn’t run any yellow lights. “But if she was going to use the alibi, why admit to us that she was bombed out of her mind and couldn’t remember?”

“Because the time frame isn’t gonna work. She’s covering up.” Morrisette maneuvered the cruiser through traffic as if she was on a Sunday drive. It took less than twenty minutes to reach Bandeaux’s home in the historic district. “Traffic would have been lighter at night. She could have made it door to door in about fifteen minutes.” She parked in Bandeaux’s driveway, and Reed stared at the yellow crime scene tape still stretched around the wrought-iron fence. It was loosening, had ripped in one place, would soon be taken down. Unlike the noose surrounding Mrs. Bandeaux’s long neck. With each of her lies, the rope just kept tightening.

“So what do you think?” Morrisette asked.

“Since she wasn’t exactly candid, I think it’s time to get a court order for a sample of Mrs. Bandeaux’s blood.”

“Sounds good to me. And while we’re at it, we’ll ask for a search warrant for her place. We could get lucky and might just find the murder weapon.”

Adam leaned on the time-worn railing of the verandah and swirled his drink. From this vantage point of the house he’d rented, he had a bird’s-eye view of Washington Square. It was near dusk, sunlight fading with each passing second. Traffic was light, a few cars rolling past, and the promise of darkness was near. And he was feeling like crap. Lying to Caitlyn had been harder than he’d imagined. He should come clean. Now. He took a long swallow from his glass and knew the reason he was wavering. Because he was attracted to her. Which was asinine. Could cost him his license if he let things get out of hand. He’d have to be careful.

It’s just because you haven’t been with a woman in a long time.

Nope. That was only half of it. He hadn’t been attracted to a woman in a long time. Probably because of his ex-wife. Had he ever really gotten over her?

Maybe finally.

At least he’d found someone else to fantasize about.

Except that she’s your patient.

“Oh, hell,” he growled, staring at the square.

A couple was strolling hand in hand under the trees, and an old, emaciated man was seated on a bench, hands folded on the top of his cane, fedora angled jauntily upon his head. Overhead two squirrels pirouetted and dived, scrambling nimbly through the branches and whispering through the leaves.

What had Rebecca said the last time she’d called?

“I’ve got a breakthrough on this case that you won’t believe. This is it, Adam. Remember I wanted to write a book about a case? I finally found it. I’ll be taking a couple of months off, going to try and organize my notes, and then, with the client’s permission, I’ll write it. You’re going to be so jealous!”

She’d been laughing, almost flirty, and he’d felt that there might be hope for their relationship after all. It had been so long since he’d heard any hint of gaiety in her voice, any trace of lightheartedness, and he wondered with more than a measure of guilt how much of that had been his fault.

He missed her lighthearted banter. Or he had.

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