"Did you see him drink at that time?"
"I think ..." He shut his eyes as if to bring it all back. "It seems to me he did. I can't imagine him not drinking after a toast by his son. Walt doted on his children. I believe he had a fresh glass—it seems to me it was full— when he made his own little toast. But I can't say for certain whether he picked it off a tray or someone handed it to him."
"You were friends?"
Grief clouded his face again. "Good friends, yes."
"Any problems in his marriage?"
Vance shook his head. "He was blissful. Frankly, most of us who knew him were baffled when he married Bambi. He was married to Shelly for, what would it be? More than thirty years, I suppose. Their divorce was amicable enough, as divorces go. Then within six months he was involved with Bambi. Most of us thought it was just some midlife foolishness, but it stuck."
"Was his first wife here tonight?"
"No. They weren't quite that amicable."
"Anyone you know of who'd want him dead?"
"Absolutely no one." He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. "I know saying he didn't have an enemy in the world is a cliché, Lieutenant Dallas, but that's exactly what I'd say about Walt. People liked him, and a great many people loved him. He was a sweet-natured man, a generous employer, a devoted father."
And a wealthy one, Eve thought after she'd released the doctor. A wealthy man who'd dumped wife number-one for a younger, sexier model. As people didn't bring cyanide as a party favor, someone had been there tonight for the express purpose of killing Pettibone.
Eve did the interview with the second wife in a sitting room off the woman's bedroom.
The room was dim, the heavy pink drapes drawn tight over the windows so that the single lamp with its striped shade provided a candy-colored light.
In it, Eve could see the room, all pink and white and frothy. Like the inside of a sugar-loaded pastry, she thought. There were mountains of pillows, armies of trinkets, and the heavy scent of too many roses in one space.
Amid the girlish splendor, Bambi Pettibone reclined on a pink satin chaise. Her hair was curled and braided and tinted in that same carnival pink to set off a baby-doll face. She wore pink as well, a shimmering ensemble that dipped low over one breast and left the other to be flirtily exposed but for a patch of sheer material shaped like a rose.
Her big blue eyes shimmered prettily with the tears that trickled in tiny, graceful drops down her smooth cheeks. The face spoke of youth and innocence, but the body told another story altogether.
She held a fluffy white ball in her lap.
"Mrs. Pettibone?"
She let out a gurgling sound and pushed her face into the white ball. When the ball let out a quick yip, Eve decided it was, possibly, some sort of dog.
"I'm Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. This is my aide, Officer Peabody. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Boney's dead. My sweet Boney."
Boney and Bambi, Eve thought. What was wrong with people? "I know this is a difficult time." Eve glanced around, decided she had no choice but to sit on something fluffy and pink. "But I need to ask you some questions."
"I just wanted to give him a birthday party. Everyone came. We were having such a good time. He never even got to open his presents."
She wailed the last of it, and the little puff ball on her lap produced a pink tongue and licked her face.
"Mrs. Pettibone ... could I have your legal name for the record?"
"I'm Bambi."
"For real? Never mind. You were standing next to your husband when he collapsed."
"He was saying such nice things about everybody. He really liked the party." She sniffled, looked imploringly at Eve. "That's something, isn't it? He was happy when it happened."
"Did you give him the champagne for his toast, Mrs. Pettibone?"
"Boney loved champagne." There was a sentimental and soggy sigh. "It was his very, very favorite. We had caterers. I wanted everything just so. I told Mr. Markie to be sure his servers passed champagne the whole time. And canapés, too. I worked really hard to make it perfect for my sweet Boney. Then he got so sick, and it happened so fast. If I'd known he was sick, we wouldn't have had a party. But he was fine when he left this morning. He was just fine."