"What?"
"What kind of red wine goes with work?"
With exaggerated patience, she said, "The wine didn't come out until dinnertime, and Cabernet goes very well with filets mignons."
"When did you put the robe on?"
She looked at him for several seconds, then shook her head with puzzlement. "Excuse me?"
Ski took a step to bring himself nearer to her. "When I got there, all you had on was a robe."
A robe made of some soft, filmy stuff that had clung to her damp body, then seemed to dissolve within his grip. The imagery was strong, vivid, and way out of line. As was the irrational anger with which he asked, "At what point did you put on that robe? When you took off your wet swimsuit? Is that all you were wearing during your dinner hour with Lofland?"
He was leaning in close to her, unnecessarily close. Why? In order to intimidate a truthful answer out of her? Or for a reason totally unrelated to his investigation?
Amanda Lofland chose that moment to come out of her husband's room, and her displeasure upon seeing Berry there was glaringly obvious.
Ski hastily stepped back, placing appropriate space between Berry and himself.
"Hello, Amanda," Berry said.
Ski thought her apologetic, sympathetic tone sounded heartfelt.
"How is Ben?" she asked.
"Sleeping."
Amanda Lofland's curtness was in keeping with the anger emanating from her. Ski noticed that her hands were fisted at her sides.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am," Berry said. "I would rather Oren have shot me than--"
Amanda's bitter laugh cut her off. "Oh, I doubt that."
"It's true." Berry's voice cracked. "I would never have thought Oren capable of doing something like this."
The other woman seemed not to have hear
d that. Her eyes were narrowed with hatred. "You had to prove it, didn't you?"
"Prove what?"
"That you could snap your fingers and Ben would come running."
"What are you talking about?"
"You can't stand the thought that he is happily married to me, so you lured him up here to--"
"Amanda, what--"
"I hated the idea of him spending a day here with you. But I pretended that it didn't bother me. It was for work, after all."
"It was for work. Our deadline to deliver that campaign is Monday. We are committed to meeting it."
"Exactly. So what kind of shrew would I have been to say, 'No, you can't go'? What kind of wife would I have been not to trust my husband?"
"You can trust him. Ben adores you. He called you several times throughout the day. I heard him."
"Oh, yes. He called periodically to assure me how hard the two of you were working."