The Ex. BEVERLY BARTON

      “I had absolutely no reason to kill Lulu. We were friends…lovers.”

      “Nothing serious between you two?”

      “Now when have I ever had a serious relationship with a woman?”

      “Hmm…” Kendall looked him over from head to toe. “What about Lulu, did she want more than you were willing to give?”

      Quinn shook his head. “Not that I know of. She drove up to Nashville and spent a couple of days with me about six weeks ago. I hadn’t seen her since. She called this afternoon to congratulate me on winning the McBryar case and invited me to Memphis for a personal celebration.”

      “What about other boyfriends? Do you know if she was seeing someone else—someone who might have been the jealous type?”

      “We didn’t discuss other lovers when we were together.”

      “I sure hope she had a jealous boyfriend. That would at least take some of the focus off you.”

      “Look, honey, we can talk particulars later. I’d like to get out of here. Tonight.”

      “That can be arranged. If they want to ask you more questions, we can come back in the morning. This early in the investigation, they apparently don’t have any reason to hold you.” Kendall slipped her arm through his. “Do you have a place to stay tonight?”

      “I’ll check into the Peabody or—”

      “You’ll stay with me.”

      Quinn gave her an inquisitive look. The last he’d heard, Kendall had gotten married about four years ago.

      “We’re separated,” she said as if reading his mind. “The divorce will be final next month.”

      “Sorry it didn’t work out.”

      “Yeah, me, too.” She shrugged. “He was a nice man. Widower. A couple of teenage kids. I thought it was what I wanted, but it wasn’t. I should have stuck to my own kind.”

      “And that would be?”

      “No-good heartbreakers like you, Quinn.”

      * * *

      “Annabelle?” Wythe Vanderley’s voice vibrated with anticipation. “Hiram said you wanted to see me immediately. Dare I hope you’ve changed your mind about—”

      Annabelle whirled around and glared at her loathsome cousin. “For God’s sake, don’t say anything else.”

      He stared at her, speculation in his gaze. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

      When he approached her, she held up a restraining hand. He stopped immediately.

      “Sheriff Brody just left. He came personally to deliver some bad news…about”—she swallowed fresh tears—“about Lulu.”

      Wythe’s face turned pale. “What’s happened? Has she been in a car wreck? Damn, how many times have I warned her not to drive so fast.”

      “It wasn’t a car wreck.”

      “What is it? What? Is she in the hospital? Do we need to—”

      “Lulu was murdered,” Annabelle forced the words, hating the very sound of them. Saying them aloud made the unbearable truth more real.

      “Murdered?” Wythe shook his head. “No, that’s not possible. Who’d want to hurt Lulu? Everybody loved her. You know that.” Pale and trembling like a leaf in the wind, Wythe stared at Annabelle, a dazed look in his eyes.

      “Pull yourself together. Right now. I can’t have you falling apart. I need you to help me tell Uncle Louis.”

      “Daddy? Oh, Lord, this will kill him.”

      “What I want you to do is telephone Dr. Martin and tell him what’s happened. Ask him to come over to the house immediately,” Annabelle said. “I have duties to attend to, but as soon as Dr. Martin arrives, the three of us will take Uncle Louis aside and tell him.”

      “You know I was never jealous of her.” Wythe smiled, the expression on his face pathetic. “I was fifteen when she came along and I should have hated her, but I didn’t. I adored the little puss from the first moment I saw her. Even knowing Daddy loved her far more than he ever did me didn’t change the way I felt about her.”

      Annabelle did not want to hear this. Not now. Not ever. She had no time—and no stomach—for any of Wythe’s confessions. And she felt he was on the verge of one.

      “Use the phone in here to call Dr. Martin.” As Annabelle walked past her cousin on her way to the door, she paused momentarily and offered him a sympathetic glance. The caring, nurturing part of her wanted to reach out and hug him, offer him comfort. But she could not bring herself to touch Wythe, not knowing what she did about him.

      Once outside in the hallway, she hurried down the corridor, her head held high, her eyes dry. And all the while her heart was aching. Poor Lulu. No matter how wild and crazy she’d been, no matter how useless her life or how many times she’d disappointed her father, she didn’t deserve to die. The murder of a Memphis socialite, the daughter of a Mississippi multimillionaire and the reigning emperor of the Vanderley empire, would be front-page news by morning. Once she told Uncle Louis about Lulu, she’d make plans to drive to Memphis first thing in the morning. She would take charge, do her duty and represent the family. She intended to make it her mission to see that Lulu’s murderer was found and punished.

      Quinn parked his Porsche in the two-car garage alongside Kendall’s BMW. She waited for him to retrieve his overnight bag from the trunk, then held the door open for him to enter through the kitchen of her South Bluff home, a downtown terraced house. As he followed her into the great room, he noted that the decorating style reflected the lady herself. Sleek, smart and modern. Nothing homey about the place. Lots of glass and mostly basic black-and-white, with a few tans and creams thrown in for good measure.

      He was a man who noticed details, had built his career on his shrewd intuition as much as his intelligence. The house told him clearly that Kendall slept here, occasionally ate here and probably had sex here, but this place wasn’t her home. The woman didn’t have a home anymore than Quinn did. They were, by nature and nurture, vagabond loners.

      He owned a penthouse in Houston, a vacation home in Jamaica and a time-share in Vail. But he didn’t have a home. Not even the ranch he’d bought in the hill country adjoining his old friend Johnny Mack Cahill’s property was really home.

      He’d never needed a home. He’d been too busy building a career and getting filthy rich to be bothered with matters as mundane and unimportant as a home. But that had been in the past. He now had everything he’d ever wanted. And more. So why did he feel so empty? And so alone?

      Kendall paused by the counter separating the state-of-the-art, stainless-steel kitchen from the great room. “I could fix us some hot tea or if you prefer, I can make you a stiff drink.”

      “How about some hot tea and a couple more aspirins.” He rubbed his left temple with his forefinger.

      “Hot tea and aspirins coming right up.” She nodded toward the hallway opening to the right of the great room. “I have two guest bedrooms. Take your pick. They both have their own private bath.”

      Quinn nodded. “I’m not picky. Not tonight. I’m just grateful you offered me a place to stay. At a time like this, a little tea and sympathy is appreciated.”

      She looked at him suspiciously, as if doubtful about his sincerity. “I’ll give you all the tea you want, but no sympathy.”

      Quinn heaved a deep sigh, then chuckled mirthlessly. “I meant that literally, honey, not metaphorically. I didn’t think you’d brought me home with you so you could have your way with me.”

      She raised an eyebrow. “You’ve changed.”

      He shrugged.