bar and a lonely square glass coffee table in the living room. He flicked on the Bose CD player and soft, romantic music floated through the sparsely furnished apartment. A bottle of wine nestled in a silver bucket of ice alongside two fine-stemmed glasses.
Dianna was fully aware of what he was doing.
“It’s a nice Downtown location. It will probably be convenient for you.”
“For us ,” he said, taking her in his arms.
All high-minded thoughts flew away as his hands moved over her body.
In the empty living room, with new carpet for a bed,
Dianna dissolved in a pool of pleasure without a drop of pride.
* * * * *
Chapter 23
“S o Porter already went to the cops?” asked Joe.
They were in Joe’s Land Rover headed to Lee and Sylvia Porter’s house in Winter Park.
“Yes. Evelyn told him she couldn’t keep the condo secret any longer, even if it meant losing her job. She knew Lee and Dianna were supposed to meet at the condo that night. Dianna had called the office and left a confirming message for him with Evelyn.
“Lee swore up and down that he changed his mind and didn’t meet Dianna, that he was with Sylvia all night, but Evelyn wasn’t sure she believed him. She told him she wouldn’t go to the police, but she was going to talk to me about it. You have to give her credit; that took a lot of guts.
“I don’t know, maybe it was weighing on him, too, Joe. She didn’t lose her job, after all. He said he understood and asked her to stay. He just asked her to give him time to volunteer his information to the police.”
“And he agreed to meet with us… with his wife,” said Joe. “So, he must have come clean with her, too.”
“Well, she’s his alibi,” said Julie. “This will be an interesting meeting.”
They were in an old established neighborhood on the shores of Lake Maitland. Joe pointed out the Winter Park Racquet Club.
“I heard Brandt was one of the charter members,” he said.
Julie was looking for Moss Drive and didn’t hear him.
“Who was?”
“James Brandt, Porter’s partner.”
“There’s Moss Drive,” said Julie.
Number four-eighty-seven was huge, with pillars and arches and a barrel-tile roof. It was all one floor, but sprawling. Like most homes on the old lakefront street, the original house was long gone. Julie thought that the Porters must have torn down two old houses to build this one with its attached three-car garage. They pulled into the bricked circular driveway, got out and rang the bell. Julie half expected a butler to answer, but it was Lee Porter.
“Hi, Joe. Julie,” he said somberly. “Come in, please.”
They stepped into a wide, marble-floored room which overlooked a pool and the lake. The room was split into two areas, left and right, by two square tray ceilings bordered with dark wood beams. Matching wrought iron chandeliers hung from each, centered above two identical floral rugs. The left square was a dining area, and the right a living room with a green velvet sofa and floral chairs. On the far right sat a baby grand piano.
Sylvia Porter sat in the living room in front of a fringed ottoman that held a large tray and a tea service. She wore a single strand of pearls over a pale green sweater and skirt. There wasn’t a blonde hair out of place in her French twist. She held a cup of tea and didn’t bother to get up.
Lee directed them to the sofa and took a chair on their left. Sylvia was on their right. A middle chair, directly in front of them sat empty.
Great…a tennis match.
“Sylvia, you remember Julie O’Hara, and this is Joe Garrett.”
He turned to Julie and Joe.
“My wife, Sylvia.”
“How do you do,” she said with a quick smile that involved no other part of her face.
“Would you like some tea?” said Lee.
Julie declined and was glad that Joe did, too. This was going to be uncomfortable.
“First,” said Lee, “I want to apologize, Julie. I should have been more forthcoming when you came to my office.
Dianna was fully aware of what he was doing.
“It’s a nice Downtown location. It will probably be convenient for you.”
“For us ,” he said, taking her in his arms.
All high-minded thoughts flew away as his hands moved over her body.
In the empty living room, with new carpet for a bed,
Dianna dissolved in a pool of pleasure without a drop of pride.
* * * * *
Chapter 23
“S o Porter already went to the cops?” asked Joe.
They were in Joe’s Land Rover headed to Lee and Sylvia Porter’s house in Winter Park.
“Yes. Evelyn told him she couldn’t keep the condo secret any longer, even if it meant losing her job. She knew Lee and Dianna were supposed to meet at the condo that night. Dianna had called the office and left a confirming message for him with Evelyn.
“Lee swore up and down that he changed his mind and didn’t meet Dianna, that he was with Sylvia all night, but Evelyn wasn’t sure she believed him. She told him she wouldn’t go to the police, but she was going to talk to me about it. You have to give her credit; that took a lot of guts.
“I don’t know, maybe it was weighing on him, too, Joe. She didn’t lose her job, after all. He said he understood and asked her to stay. He just asked her to give him time to volunteer his information to the police.”
“And he agreed to meet with us… with his wife,” said Joe. “So, he must have come clean with her, too.”
“Well, she’s his alibi,” said Julie. “This will be an interesting meeting.”
They were in an old established neighborhood on the shores of Lake Maitland. Joe pointed out the Winter Park Racquet Club.
“I heard Brandt was one of the charter members,” he said.
Julie was looking for Moss Drive and didn’t hear him.
“Who was?”
“James Brandt, Porter’s partner.”
“There’s Moss Drive,” said Julie.
Number four-eighty-seven was huge, with pillars and arches and a barrel-tile roof. It was all one floor, but sprawling. Like most homes on the old lakefront street, the original house was long gone. Julie thought that the Porters must have torn down two old houses to build this one with its attached three-car garage. They pulled into the bricked circular driveway, got out and rang the bell. Julie half expected a butler to answer, but it was Lee Porter.
“Hi, Joe. Julie,” he said somberly. “Come in, please.”
They stepped into a wide, marble-floored room which overlooked a pool and the lake. The room was split into two areas, left and right, by two square tray ceilings bordered with dark wood beams. Matching wrought iron chandeliers hung from each, centered above two identical floral rugs. The left square was a dining area, and the right a living room with a green velvet sofa and floral chairs. On the far right sat a baby grand piano.
Sylvia Porter sat in the living room in front of a fringed ottoman that held a large tray and a tea service. She wore a single strand of pearls over a pale green sweater and skirt. There wasn’t a blonde hair out of place in her French twist. She held a cup of tea and didn’t bother to get up.
Lee directed them to the sofa and took a chair on their left. Sylvia was on their right. A middle chair, directly in front of them sat empty.
Great…a tennis match.
“Sylvia, you remember Julie O’Hara, and this is Joe Garrett.”
He turned to Julie and Joe.
“My wife, Sylvia.”
“How do you do,” she said with a quick smile that involved no other part of her face.
“Would you like some tea?” said Lee.
Julie declined and was glad that Joe did, too. This was going to be uncomfortable.
“First,” said Lee, “I want to apologize, Julie. I should have been more forthcoming when you came to my office.
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