Harry Thorpe looked up at Savich, his mouth opening to reply when Justice Alto-Thorpe said, “He sells fish. What are you doing here, Agents?”
Savich said, “We wanted to see how Mrs. Califano was doing. I assume that’s why you are all here?” His question included Justice Wallace and his wife.
Justice Wallace said quickly, “Yes, of course. Beth and I are friends of the family, have been for many years. Naturally we’d want to see how Margaret is holding up.”
Thankfully, Justice Alto-Thorpe remained silent, but she continued to look at Savich, Sherlock, and Ben as if the murders were all their fault.
Savich said, “I assume your federal marshals brought you here?”
Justice Wallace nodded. “Fine fellows. We feel quite safe with them around.” Beth Wallace didn’t say a word. From her expression it was obvious she didn’t want to be here. Sherlock saw her look directly at Margaret, and there was something in those faded eyes of hers, something that bothered Sherlock, something that wasn’t quite right. Then it was clear. She knew, Sherlock realized, she knew very well that her husband had wanted to add another notch to his aging belt. Sherlock would wager she also knew that Stewart Califano knew about it as well and had been upset at her husband. But why was she looking at Margaret like that? Margaret wasn’t the one in the wrong. Then Beth Wallace looked at her husband, saw that he was staring at Margaret. Sherlock saw her wince, look down at her clasped hands, slumping her shoulders, as if in defeat. She’d said everything she felt and knew without speaking a word. She was dressed in lovely black wool trousers, a pink cashmere sweater, and a matching black wool blazer. She looked good on the outside. But her insides?
Margaret said, “Would you like some coffee? Tea? No, not you, Anna, you’ve done enough.”
“That would be lovely,” Sherlock said. Janette Weaverton quickly rose. Did the women have a rotation schedule? Sherlock could easily picture Janette in tennis whites, skillfully wielding a racket. Yes, Janette looked like she’d be a winner at tennis. Sherlock smiled. “Why don’t I help you fetch the goodies?”
The Kettering kitchen was large, the walls a pale yellow, the appliances sparkling new. A large pine table was set in the center, and Sherlock remembered the meal they’d had here with Miles and Katie and the children before they’d returned to Jessborough, Tennessee.
“This is a lovely home,” Janette Weaverton said, and went efficiently to the coffeepot. Was she staying here with Margaret? Actually sleeping here? Were the other friends as well?
There was really nothing for Sherlock to do, which didn’t surprise her. These women seemed so very organized. She leaned against the counter and said, “Margaret has more color in her cheeks. She’s very lucky she has such good friends.”
“She’s still pretty bad, just sits there, staring off, and the rest of us sit there with her and worry and try to distract her. But she’ll make it. Margaret’s very strong.”
“How did the five of you get together, Mrs. Weaverton?”
“Janette, please, Agent Sherlock. Incidentally, that’s an interesting name. I bet you get lots of jokes about it since you’re an FBI agent.”
“Endless numbers of comments, yes. My father is a federal judge in San Francisco, and he gets the jokes too. But not in his courtroom—oh no. I think the ‘Judge Sherlock’ scares some of the defendants to their toes. Please call me Sherlock.”
“Okay, Sherlock. The five of us got together in school. We all went to Bryn Mawr, outside Philadelphia, same place Callie went to school.”
“You’ve known each other that long?”
“Well, we didn’t all meet on the same day. I roomed with Margaret our freshman year, so I guess you’d call us the two originals. Actually, we called ourselves the two Eves. Then we picked up Bitsy in biology the second year, Juliette shared an off-campus suite in the third year, and Anna Clifford, a math whiz, was tutoring one of our boyfriends in our senior year. We came together and stayed together.”
“When did the duo set of Justices drop by? Were they unannounced?”
“They arrived maybe ten minutes before you did. And yes, neither couple called first. We’ve been talking about the Danny O’Malley murder.”
Janette paused a moment with the silver tray and cups. “I’ve met Justice Alto-Thorpe twice. I wonder if she’s always so disapproving of our federal police force?”
Sherlock smiled. “I imagine she hates law enforcement in general, and this sent her right over the top. I can tell you from firsthand experience she’s been that way both times I’ve been near her.”
“It’s a wonder her lips don’t disappear completely into her face.”
Sherlock laughed, then sobered immediately. “I’m actually surprised that Justice Sumner Wallace came by, since he wanted to seduce Margaret and she told her husband about it. A lot of anger there. Why would he come?”
Sherlock calmly watched Janette Weaverton drop a coffee cup. Both women watched it hit the tile and shatter. That, Sherlock thought, was some payoff to the outrageous statement she’d just made.
“Oh dear, look what I’ve done. I’m so clumsy.” Janette Weaverton quickly fetched a broom and dustpan from the walk-in pantry, and started in on the mess.
Sherlock said as she watched her sweep up the broken cup and dump it into the garbage can beneath the sink, “Surely you know what happened, Mrs. Weaverton. Surely you aren’t at all surprised by this. Margaret told all of you about Justice Wallace and his unwanted antics.”
Janette Weaverton washed her hands, dried them, and said as she turned back to Sherlock, “Margaret said very little about it to us. When Anna brought it up, Margaret laughed it off. I never got the impression it disturbed her very much. She thought he was an old fool. He’s never hit on me.” Janette began to arrange cups on their saucers on the big silver tray.
“Are there teabags?”
“What? Oh certainly.”
She fetched a tea box, an early American piece divided into ten sections, each with a different tea. Sherlock picked out Earl Grey, Savich’s favorite. “My husband rarely drinks coffee.”
“Your husband is a lovely man. He obviously takes very good care of himself. You’re a lucky woman.”
Sherlock nodded in agreement. “Yes. We have a little boy, Sean is his name. Do you have children, Mrs. Weaverton?”
Janette shook her head as she poured cream into a small pitcher and set it on the tray. “No, my husband and I decided children weren’t for us. Then we divorced.” Ah, Sherlock thought, watching the woman, Janette Weaverton had wanted children, but why then hadn’t she remarried?
“I’ve heard Mrs. Califano’s boutiques are quite successful. I plan to buy my husband something for his birthday at the one in Georgetown. That’s where we live.”
A smooth eyebrow went up. “Georgetown?”
“My husband’s grandmother was Sarah Elliott, the painter. She willed her beautiful home to my husband.”
Janette Weaverton’s jaw dropped. “Really? Sarah Elliott was your husband’s grandmother? The Sarah Elliott? How very incredible that must be.”
Sherlock nodded, watched her put sugar packets and Equal in a small bowl, and set it next to the creamer.
Sherlock asked, “Do you work as well, Mrs. Weaverton?”
“No. I’m fortunate to have been born to very rich parents. I do, however, travel a lot. But things are different now with Stewart dead. Perhaps Margaret will need my help. I don’t know yet.”
“Would you want to join her in her business?”
“Unfortunately I have no business experience. And, the sad fact is, I don’t think I could sell a shoe addict a pair of Ferragamos.”
Sherlock laughed. “Well, who knows? Shall I carry this for you?”