34

Briana Meyers was dressed in her usual uniform, as Victoria had begun to think of it: open peacoat, dark jeans, and an ill-fitting button-down. She wondered if those were department mandated or if Meyers refused to buy flattering clothes.

Either way, an unannounced visit from the lead detective working her husband’s homicide was less than ideal.

“Detective Meyers, hello,” she said, minimizing the browser.

“Mrs. Tate. Mr. and Mrs. Connors.”

“Hello, Detective,” Margaret said. “Good to see you again.”

“To what do I owe this visit?”

Judy backed out of the doorway and scurried to her desk. No doubt to spread the word that Meyers had made another appearance. Wonderful.

“Can we speak privately for a moment, Mrs. Tate? Promise it won’t take long.”

Margaret and Barnaby exchanged a look between them while Victoria rose and followed Meyers into the hallway. They didn’t speak on the way to her office, but she didn’t miss how Meyers inspected the happenings around her as they passed.

Victoria shut the door and sat in the chair behind her desk. Meyers took the leather seat across from her, tiny notebook already in hand. Despite the confidence she was clearly trying to portray, she looked uncomfortable. Like she didn’t belong in this environment with its designer suits and expensive accents.

“I wasn’t aware you worked with the Connors,” she said.

“Barnaby was one of Warren’s first clients,” Victoria said. “Since he’s no longer able to handle their concerns, I’ve inherited the account.”

“Fancy way to say your husband is no longer alive,” Meyers said.

“Death is a rather taboo subject for the office. We can’t all work in Homicide.”

“I suppose not.”

“I gather that’s why you’re here? Has something happened with Warren’s case?”

Meyers let her gaze roam the office before landing on Victoria. “I’ve just come from an interview and I have a few follow-up questions that I wanted to ask you,” she said.

This couldn’t be done over the phone? Victoria thought. Meyers had follow-ups after many of her interviews, it seemed. She double-checked witness statements and details about the Gala that others reported. None of it seemed relevant, and most of it was handled at scheduled times.

“Must be some important questions if you had to come all the way downtown,” she said.

“I find that it’s better to have these conversations face-to-face. So much is lost in translation when you can’t see the other person you’re talking to. Besides, gives me a chance to grab a beef patty from the corner store off State Street. Best in the area.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Victoria said, because despite the disdain she harbored for her mother’s rigorous and toxic dieting habits, she couldn’t bring herself to buy street food from the same place people got scratch-offs.

“Anyway.” Meyers shook off the awkward transition. “Like I said: I know you’re busy. Doubt you want to keep the Connors waiting. Just a few questions that need clearing up, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Of course.” The few seconds allowed her to calm the nerves tingling through her body. Flexing her fingers into a loose grasp on the armrests, she let the detective take the lead, reminding herself that she had nothing to hide. She hadn’t killed Warren. She was innocent.

Well, innocent was a stretch, but she wasn’t guilty either. She also wasn’t prepared for what Meyers said next.

“Tell me about your relationship with Scott Morton.”