Page 48 of One of Us Is Guilty

I heard footsteps on a hard floor. The door opened.

Patrick Vanderpool wore a pale blue shirt, with a stiff white collar. Red silk braces held his gray pants high above his hips. He had a wide mouth and angular lips, a sharp nose and keen blue eyes. His hair was graying, and naturally curly; he kept it short and swept back. He wore a gold pinky ring with a black square and some kind of symbol on it that I didn’t recognize. It was on the same hand as his wedding ring. No other jewelry, no tie. His cologne was powerful enough to make a camel sneeze.

‘Mr. Vanderpool, we’re your wife’s lawyers. We need to see her,’ said Harry.

He stood there for a moment, his hand on the door, as his gaze shifted between me and Harry. He seemed to linger on Harry.

‘Did she call you and invite you over?’ asked Patrick.

‘No, we need to see her right away,’ I said.

‘She’s in bed,’ said Patrick.

His eyes widened, and lips parted as Harry stepped inside the house and said, ‘You’d better wake her up, then.’

He looked like he was trying to find the right words to get rid of us. I followed Harry inside before he could find them.

‘It’s important, Mr. Vanderpool. Let her know we’re here,’ I said.

The door slammed closed behind us, and Patrick marched past, arms swinging.

‘Wait in the living room,’ he said.

The living room had two couches facing each other, with a coffeetable in between. A gold-trimmed mirror hung above a grand marble fireplace, and a bay window overlooked the street.

I sat next to Harry. We listened to Patrick’s leather shoes on the stairs, and when he was far enough out of earshot, I said, ‘Charming, isn’t he?’

‘Buchanan and Duff have told him there’s a potential for this murder to come back and bite him on the ass. We’re the outside help. That means we are the ones who might be doing the biting. He’s right to be a little wary of us,’ said Harry.

‘You always see the good in people.’

‘Why do you think I took on a conman as my clerk when he was fresh out of law school?’ asked Harry.

‘Ouch.’

‘Be careful what you say in here. Let’s take her out of the house. Go back to the office. This is not the place for a hard conversation,’ he said.

Footsteps on the stairs. Two sets. One heavier, one much lighter.

Patrick led Vanessa into the living room. He had his left hand in hers, down by his side. She had changed into navy linen pants, a white T-shirt and sandals. I saw Vanessa tug her wrist, as if to get Patrick to let go.

But he held on, tightly. They sat together on the couch opposite us.

‘Mr. Flynn, Mr. Ford. Is everything alright? Is there a problem with bail? I wasn’t expecting you,’ she said.

‘We need to talk, Vanessa. Say, Mr. Vanderpool, would you mind?’ asked Harry, in as polite a way as possible, to subtly suggest that he take himself elsewhere.

‘Would I mind what?’ asked Patrick, narrowing his eyes. There was a little fastball in that question.

‘We need to talk to our client in private,’ I said. ‘If that’s okay? It shouldn’t take long. Maybe you could make some coffee.’

‘I don’t make coffee,’ he said. ‘And whatever you’ve got to say to Vanessa you can say to me.’

His eyes locked on to me. I realized that I hadn’t yet seen the man blink. I understood how some people would find him intimidating. I didn’t speak. Neither did Harry. We just sat on the couch. There was no other way we could put it other than to tell him to get the hell out. I saw Vanessa noticing his demeanor. Saw the realization in her eyes. She knew her husband better than almost anyone, and she had that keen ability to read her spouse’s moods. She spoke slowly and softly.

‘Darling, they need to talk to me privately,’ said Vanessa.

‘It shouldn’t take too long,’ said Harry. ‘Brewing a pot of joe would take your mind off things, and help warm up this old man.’