Susan Richards's room smelled of gentle perfume and cigarette smoke. The blinds were drawn, the bed properly made, all her cosmetics neatly arranged on the bureau.
Tobin started first in the bureau drawers. He found nothing except the expected lingerie, blouses, scarves.
He closed the final drawer and moved on to the closet. He paused once and clipped off the light because he heard somebody coming down the corridor. The footsteps were loud, squeaky with leather. Then they moved on past.
Tobin resumed his search, finding two leather suitcases set side-by-side in the back of the closet.
He turned on the light again and hauled both suitcases to the bed.
The first suitcase was stuffed with more cosmetics. Running to wrinkle cream, and moisturizer, and Scandinavian elixirs that promised all sorts of miracles, they were sad reminders of how uncomfortably many beautiful women deal with impending age.
In the second suitcase he found the two things of note: the small black and white photograph he'd seen Susan Richards holding the other day by the swimming pool and a folded letter identical to the one that Cindy McBain had seen stuffed under Kevin Anderson's door-the one with the Xerox of the infant. The one all the "Celebrity Circle" panelists had received.
Tobin compared the small photograph to the Xerox image on the paper. They were identical.
He knew now that everything Everett Sanderson's brother had told him on the phone was true.
He picked up the phone, dialed the Farris cabin.
Alicia Farris answered, "Hello."
"Hello, Alicia. This is Tobin."
"Oh. Hello." She did not sound the least happy to hear from him. After this afternoon he was hardly surprised.
"I need to speak to Jere."
"He's resting."
"It's important."
There was a pause. "Susan Richards is being charged with these murders. The scandal will destroy the show. What the hell more do you want, Tobin?"
"I want to speak to Jere."
"You sonofabitch."
But she did not hang up. In the background she could be heard telling her husband who was on the phone. Jere cursed. Bedsprings squeaked. He said, "What the hell do you want?"
"I need you to answer a question for me very carefully."
"Why should I?"
Tobin sighed. "It's important, Jere. That's why."
Ice rattled in a glass, which helped explain why Jere sounded half-bagged. "What's your question?"
"The night before last, did Joanna Howard push a love letter to you under your door?"
"Why the hell would that be any business of yours?"
"Answer me. Please."
"No."
"That's all I wanted to know."
As he was hanging up, he heard Jere sputtering another angry response.