The Wicked Wife (Murder in Marin Book 2) (29 page)

“I know all of you have a full day ahead, so I’ll get right to it,” Eddie began. “I’m looking to both of you to help me fill in some blanks regarding Willow’s life. There’s a lot about that woman that makes very little sense to me. Sylvia, you were with me when we interviewed Pamela Botherton and Julia Hassie. I know you could tell what I was thinking after those interviews.”

“Well, yes,” she admitted. “You felt that, somehow, Willow was involved in the theft of those jewels. But at the same time, you and I both knew that made no sense.”

“Exactly. Here’s where I need your help. I want both of you to organize a timeline from—the moment you met Willow, up until the time she vanished on Saturday. As best as you can, try to remember every encounter: what was discussed, what she might have told you about friends, enemies, the people she liked, and those she disliked.”

“So, essentially, from the time I met her at the Adams’ home when they had their meet Willow party?” Sylvia said.

“Yes—the party that I crashed,” Holly said with a short laugh. “Okay, we’ll do it. But I’m guessing it’s going to be this weekend before we can work on that. I think you know that Rob, Sylvia, and I have a really busy day today. We’ve got a deadline for the Peninsula edition, and that’s going to be pretty intense.”

“No problem. But it would be great if you had something put together by Sunday night.”

“Level with us, Eddie. I know you’ve got some angle on this.” Rob was not able to resist his newsman’s endless sense of curiosity.

Eddie nodded. “Okay. In a nutshell, I think it’s highly unlikely that Willow is the random victim of some bloodthirsty nut job. My hunch is that someone lured her to that spot. Someone who planned this, and came prepared to kill her. I know we all have a lot on our plate the next couple of days, so I’ll explain further tomorrow night at Smitty’s. I’ll leave you with this—right now, I suspect there is an awful lot that we
don’t
know about Willow Adams. That being said, the more we can learn about her, the closer we’ll get to finding her killer. A good place to start is getting the two of you to journal all those things you do remember about her.” He paused. “Before I run off, any suggestions on how I should handle the press conference? Jack Canning wants me at up at his office in less than three hours.”

“Keep all your cards close to your chest,” Holly suggested immediately.

“There’s no other way to play your hand in my line of work,” Eddie quickly agreed.

“Then you know the best line of all is, ‘Here’s what we know at this time.’” Rob added.

“Which, in my case, is not a whole hell of a lot,” Eddie conceded.

“It would be helpful if you could let people know that you think Willow was not the random victim of a crazed killer,” Holly said, trying to pick her words carefully.

Rob knew immediately what Holly was thinking. “I’ve been peddling news in the Bay Area for a whole bunch of years now. People around here love living a good part of their year in the outdoors. If you can tell them that the theory you’re going on at this time is that Willow was not a random victim, you’ll take a lot of heat off of the department right away.”

“Thanks for that. I see your point. The Hillside Strangler and the Trailside Killer didn’t do much for Bay Area tourism.”

“Not to mention politicians trying to explain why law enforcement agencies can’t always provide us with safe communities,” Holly added.
 

After Eddie hurried off, Rob turned to Sylvia. “I know you wanted to talk about your next column regarding Willow.”

“It’s just hard for me to be objective about all this. I was very fond of Willow. I don’t think she always did the right thing, but I do believe her heart was in the right place.”

“Sylvia, I want you to call the piece, ‘Remembering Willow Adams.’ It should be a personal remembrance of the friend you lost. What do you think, Holly?”

“I agree completely! Sylvia should just sit down and tell the story of the Willow you knew—how hard she worked to become a valued member of the community, her generosity of spirit, all the things that made her special.”

Sylvia nodded with a tearful smile. Since she looked as if she were back on task, Rob suggested that she open her laptop and write the piece before she left their office.
 

“I suppose that is a good idea. My deadline is in two hours anyway.” Suddenly, she frowned. “But what about all this Eddie was saying? Perhaps Holly and I don’t have any idea who the real Willow was.”

“That’s called a follow-up story,” Rob added quickly, “Right now, I need seven hundred and fifty words on the Willow you knew. And make it sweet, loving, and personal. You’re a society columnist, not a crime writer.”

Near the end of the day, the Peninsula edition was complete and sent to the printer. It carried a lead story on the death of Willow Adams. Sylvia’s article reminisced about her young friend, and was perhaps her best work to date.
 

At the end of their day, Rob pulled a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label from his lower desk drawer and called Holly into his office. “I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I think we earned a shot of the good stuff today.”

“I’m with ya, pal! Pour me a double.”

As he poured the drink, he asked, “What did you think of what Eddie said about Willow? Did she have a secret life?”

Holly shrugged. “I can’t honestly speak for Sylvia, but I thought Willow was interesting, in part because she was probably a little crazy. But I presumed it was what I imagine to be the life of a celebrity.”

“And what does that mean?”

“Well, if you’re a person of modest income, as you know I am, boss—”

“I know Holly, you remind me often enough.”

“There are so many wealthy people living in Marin County. If, like me, really, like us, you have to make life work on a tight budget, it’s like sitting just outside the party tent: there are a lot of great things going on just a few feet away—the laughter, the cheers, the clinking of champagne glasses—and it’s all so exciting, but you’re not really a part of that. I knew Willow did what she did for Sylvia and I because we could help her meet certain goals she had. I never really understood why that was, but I didn’t give a damn. I loved being able to hang with someone who is recognized everywhere from Paris to Beijing, and married to an incredibly wealthy man. Willow was one of those rare opportunities I have gotten in life to peek under the big tent marked ‘reserved for the rich and famous.’ Like going to that wedding they had. I totally agreed with you, Rob, the food was not my thing either, but the ridiculous extravagance was amazing! Oh, and getting all those free perfume bottles was pretty sweet, too.”
 

Rob chuckled. “I’m glad to hear you say that. For a while, I thought you were star struck.”

“Maybe a little. It was all pretty special. And I’ll admit it, I’m sorry that it ended so soon. But, more importantly, I’m sorry for Willow that she died so young. There was something big she was missing in her life. I could really feel that about her, but I was never sure what it was.”

“Maybe Eddie and the two of us can help figure out what that was.”

“I hope so, boss, I really do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

By the time of the Thursday afternoon press conference, the media storm was at full fury.
 

For Eddie and Sheriff Canning, this was exactly what they anticipated. “Any time you have a ‘celebrity slaying,’ and ‘many unanswered questions’ in the same sentence repeated over and over again, you’re going to find yourself in a difficult situation,” Canning muttered.

With Eddie at his side, the sheriff was hoping to say as little as possible. The media hammered away with forty-five minutes of questions that came down to this:

“Any leads in the case?”
 

“Do you have a person or persons of interest?”

“How was she murdered and has a suspected murder weapon been recovered?”

To the media’s frustration, Eddie and Canning handled it all with the cautious moves of long-experienced chess players. As discussed by them prior to the press conference, they did reveal their suspicion that Willow was the killer’s intended target and not the random victim of a deranged killer.
 

When pressed for details on that theory, they took turns repeating variations upon the same theme: “We’re not prepared to go into detail regarding that at this time…” or, “Releasing further information as to why we believe the victim knew her assailant could jeopardize the course of our investigation.”

The two concluded with this pledge: “As soon as we know more, you’ll know more.”
 

Everyone knew it was promise as meaningless as any utterance of a politician in a closely contested election.

Pamela and Julia had their own theories about Willow’s murder.

“Perhaps she was working with some underworld characters in the robbery of our jewels, and she double crossed them,” Pamela offered.

“Really?” Julia responded, as they shared tea and sympathy, still feeling the pain of jewelry lost and now, apparently, forgotten. “But why would a woman worth countless millions be interested in our jewels?”

“I have no idea, Julia. But I could read between the lines of Detective Austin’s questions. She was his one and only suspect.”

“Look at the bright side, Pamela. We no longer have Willow to worry about, and I think we’re going to be offered nice settlements by our insurance carriers. I thought those new pieces that Willow wore to the Belvedere Ball were exquisite. Maybe we should approach her jewelry designer in Paris—what was his name? And see if he can create something for us?”

Pamela smiled supremely. “Allard was his name! And that’s a wonderful idea!”
   

Eddie listened to the radio on his way to a meeting with the medical examiner. He was happy to hear that the one aspect of the press conference in particular was getting picked up: his belief that Willow’s killing was not a random act.
 

He knew this information would soon bring a call from William Adams looking for details. Eddie was fine with that. With each passing hour since the discovery of Willow’s body, he became more convinced that the details of Willow’s life held the key to unlocking the secrets of her death.