'Til Death Do Us Part by Kate White

other items—like coffee and chocolate—could be eaten only in moderation.
    I became so immersed in my research that I was running late by the time I left for Maverick’s. Her apartment turned out to be on the thirty-ninth floor of a building on the corner of Third Avenue and 70th Street, and my ears popped as I went up in the elevator. Even though the doorman had announced me, Maverick kept the chain on when she opened the door and replaced it as soon as she let me into the apartment. She was at least five feet eleven, mid-thirties, more handsome than pretty. She’d cut her hennaed hair since the wedding. It was short now and brushed back today under a two-inch-thick stretchy brown band.
    “Come in,” she said. “As you can probably guess, I haven’t been out of my apartment today.” She was referring to the fact that she was wearing a fairly low-key outfit—slim navy pants, a navy shirt with three-quarter sleeves, and a pair of brown leather slides.
    “Are you worried something might happen?” I asked.
    “Worried? Try
terrified
.” Her speaking pace was clipped and rapid-fire. “My husband’s in Dallas on business, and I demanded that he come home. Do you want sparkling water? Or a glass of white wine?”
    “Actually, wine would be great,” I said.
    She led me down the hall to a large open living space that included kitchen, living, and dining areas, all decorated with bold, modern pieces. But the best part was the view. The floor-to-ceiling black-framed windows were slightly curved, and I could see not only south but to the west and east. A million city lights twinkled below. It was like being in the cockpit of a plane.
    While I parked myself on the low black couch, Maverick pulled a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator, opened it, and poured us each such a large glassful that if I’d come by car, I would have had to ask for a designated driver.
    “You’ve been in touch with Peyton, I take it?” I said as she set the wineglass in front of me on the coffee table.
    “No, I haven’t gotten through to her,” she said. “I’ve tried her house four or five times and gotten either voice mail or the housekeeper, who said she was unable to come to the phone.”
    “But the press is already onto this. Shouldn’t she be strategizing with you?”
    Maverick had taken a seat across from me, and she paused before answering. Nestled in the lower lashes of one eye was a tiny beauty mark that made it look as if that eye were tearing up.
    “I don’t do Peyton’s press anymore. I haven’t since late October.”
    “Really,”
I said. Was this yet another falling-out? “How come?”
    “Nothing negative,” she said, clearly reading my mind. “I run a small, boutique business, and Peyton and I both felt she’d outgrown me. We’ve been together for three years, and we’ve had a great run. But I don’t have the manpower to handle an account as big and important as hers is now—and I’m not interested in growing. I suggested a few bigger companies, and she went with one of them. Of course, I’m a friend and I’m available for private consultation if she needs me.”
    She had slowed her pace a bit as she spoke and chosen her last words carefully. I suspected I wasn’t getting the full story.
    “I’m surprised she hasn’t returned your calls, though,” I said. “I would have thought she’d want your input right now.”
    “But what about
us
?” she demanded. “Aren’t you worried we could be in some kind of danger?”
    “I’m trying not to jump to any conclusions,” I said. “Instead, I’ve been gathering information. That’s why I thought it might help if you and I talked. Something significant might jump out as we compare notes.”
    “I don’t think I can contribute very much. The police sent someone here today and—”
    “They sent someone
here
? Maybe they’re taking it more seriously than I thought.”
    “I wouldn’t bank on that. I got the feeling it was just a routine