“Mrs. Warren, you’re a very bright woman. You knew that we were assigned to investigate and we were going to investigate. You should have known that the lie was going to come back on you—”

“Shriner told you!” Her face was purple with outrage. “That bastard broke confidence. I’m going to sue—”

“It wasn’t Shriner, it was Liam O’Dell.” Melinda’s mouth opened and closed. “You should have known we’d speak to all of them because Ekerling’s murder was similar to Ben’s. Didn’t you think that there might be a connection?”

“When I read about it in the papers, I thought it was odd, but…” She stopped and tears pooled in her dark eyes. “Am I going to need a lawyer?”

Oliver said, “Why don’t we ask you a few questions and then you can decide that for yourself.”

“I shouldn’t need a lawyer.” Her cheeks reddened with anger. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Decker said, “All we’re trying to do is get the truth. Maybe we should all sit down and start from the beginning.”

Melinda glanced at her watch. A big dramatic sigh. “I guess a relaxing day on the ocean is not going to happen for me.” Another hostile glare. “I need to call up my husband and tell the group to go without me. You have to give me a moment to compose myself. If he hears tension in my voice, he’s going to come home and I don’t want him knowing about any of this.”

“Fair enough.”

After taking several deep breaths, she made the phone call. Her voice was smooth and her lies were silken. Something about meeting an old friend who’s in L.A. for only a day. When she hung up, her eyes were wet. “Happy?”

“Your misery doesn’t make us happy, Mrs. Warren,” Decker said.

“You could have fooled me.”

SHE CHANGED FROM the sailor’s getup into jeans and a T-shirt. The bracelets had come off as well as the diamond watch. She had scrubbed down her face, and without any makeup, she looked like the fifties-plus woman she was. She made a pot of coffee and served it with some nuts and candy. She sat in an oversized chair with her legs tucked under her body, sipping coffee and letting the steam tickle her face.

Oliver put his mug down on the coffee table and took out a small notepad. “When you read about Primo Ekerling’s death—and its similarity to your husband’s murder—what did you think?”

She licked her lips. “It was odd, but I didn’t think it had anything to do with Bennett’s death. Fifteen years apart. Why would it have anything to do with Ben’s death?”

“But why not?” Oliver said. “The similarities were right in front of your face. And if I may be blunt, Primo was one of your former lovers.”