Last Fairytale, The by Molly Greene Page B

law. He was seeing a young woman who seemed unstable.”
    “How did you know that, if he kept his private life to himself?”
    “We have government contracts. Some of our staff maintain classified status to work on the projects. I employ people to keep an eye on them.”
    “So they also keep an eye on your employees’ friends.”
    “Occasionally.”
    “Do you think Ducane’s girlfriend is a suspect?”
    “Love is one of the basic reasons people commit murder.”
    “I agree,” she replied. “Money and revenge are probably high on the list, too. Although vengeance probably falls under the category of love or money. And in the movies, the mob kills to send other players a warning. A victim could even be murdered by mistake. Maybe Ducane accidentally ate a poisoned burrito intended for somebody else.”
    Taylor’s eyebrows quirked. “You’ve given this considerable attention. Do you eat a lot of Mexican food?”
    “I found a man dead on the floor of his office. For a little while, the cops thought I might have killed him. It left an impression.”
    “I see your point.” Vonnegon fidgeted with the bud vase on the table. “I’m sure the police asked you already, but did you notice anything in the boy’s office that you thought was unusual or out of place?”
    “Like what?”
    “I don’t know. Did Garcia ask you that?”
    “No. He asked me a million questions, but not that one. Did he ask if you saw anything?”
    “Yes, he did. And no, I didn’t. But sometimes a different set of eyes will take note of something another person overlooks.”
    “All I can think about is his shoes.” Bree glanced away and shook her head, as if the motion would fling the image of Andrew’s loafers forever from her mind.
    “At lunch you said you believed I was the woman on the tape. If you thought so, you must have also figured she killed him. You must believe the break-in is tied to his murder. Do you think his death is related to your government contract?”
    “Whoa, whoa. Hold on.” Vonnegon squeezed his lids shut and held up his hands to fend off the onslaught. “We don’t know it’s murder yet.”
    “So again. What do you think happened?”
    “Why do I get the distinct impression you know more than I do?”
    “Oh, come on, Mr. Vonnegon, sir.” Bree slid back in her chair. “How could I know more?”
    “She stuttered, eyes darting wildly, unable to meet his gaze.”
    Bree moved her chair closer to the table, then placed both elbows on the edge, laced her fingers together, and rested her chin atop them. She stared into his eyes without blinking.
    “Okay, look, yes, at first I was convinced you were the burglar. The theft was fresh. I was worried about the ramifications. It seemed obvious you, Andrew, and the burglary must be connected. But once I had time to consider, I realized I don’t know how or why Andrew died. I have no idea if it was his health or his personal life. I just don’t know.”
    The waiter returned with a bottle, discreetly presented the vintage, received a nod, then pulled the cork with a practiced hand. Vonnegon tasted the pour and nodded. The waiter filled their glasses, then bowed and left.
    “But how could his personal life be the source? You said he was a socially challenged lab rat.”
    “What I didn’t know was that he was apparently trying to climb out of his interpersonal ineptness. Or is the word ineptitude? You’re the writer.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Excuse me?”
    “How do you know he was changing his social aspirations? Did your gut tell you?”
    “My gut tells me that the lovely evening I’d planned with a really nice girl is getting sabotaged by disastrous events that have recently occurred at my place of business.”
    Bree looked away and pretended to study the other diners. “You didn’t establish any conversational limits.” She cleared her throat and began again. “Was I just supposed to guess this was a date? That is so like a man.”
    Taylor rolled