“Where did you go last night?” Lucy asks him.

“We had two other couples over for Mexican home cooking, our specialty, as you know.” Bryce smiles on the monitor, warmed by the memory. “Firecrackers with fresh jalapeños, a seven-layer dip with my famous guacamole, plus tacos, and the most amazing margaritas made with a really nice añejo tequila that we’ve been saving since Christmas? The one from your mom?”

My mind blanks out for a moment. Then I realize he’s referring to Dorothy. It dawns on me what he’s talking about.

CHAPTER 26

IN MIAMI OVER THE holidays last year, I got my fill of hearing about my sister’s wonderful generosity and what a simply scrumptious doll she is, to quote Bryce.

It seemed that every time he and I had business to discuss over the phone, the topic of conversation managed to bounce back to Dorothy. If he thought she was in earshot, he’d tell me to pass along how much they were enjoying the tequila. Or he’d yell hello as if she could hear him. Or he’d ask me to convey a comment or a question. It was rather awful.

“Oh, what’s the name?” Bryce snaps his fingers several times on the computer display. “This really fancy Patrón and it came in a leather box? And she has this fantastic recipe with agave nectar and fresh lime juice, straight up like a cosmo in a chilled glass, no salt. I told her I would practice so we can have her over while she’s in town. And as you can imagine, the six of us had way too much fun.” He rolls his eyes. “Just ask our cranky neighbor.”

“Which friends are you talking about? Who were you drinking tequila with?” Lucy wants to know. “And when did you tell my mother this?”

Bryce recites four names I’ve heard him mention often over the years as Lucy begins typing information into search fields. My slightly tipsy chief of staff continues to defend what he perceives as the tarnished honor of his best pals, who he’s known “since forever?” He says it like a question.

“And you know what? I can promise you they have nothing to do with the lying piece of shit who made the nine-one-one call about Doctor Scarpetta abusing me in public,” he adds with feeling.

“I didn’t abuse you.” I remind him to pay attention to his choice of words. “Please be careful what you say, Bryce.”

“I’m just repeating what was reported to the police by some jerk-off concerned citizen.” His face is sincere with his fixed blue stare and spiky blond hair.

“When did you tell my mother you would make her margaritas?” Lucy steers him back to that.

“Well today’s Wednesday. So I guess it was Monday night when we were going over her flight info and other things.”