Irene frowned at Luke, silently willing him to shut up. He certainly had a talent for giving orders and intimidating people, but at the moment she needed cooperation from Connie.
Luke raised his brows and shrugged a little, letting her know he had received her message.
She turned back to Connie. “Shortly before she died, Pamela sent me an e-mail telling me that sh anted to meet me here in Dunsley. Do you have any idea what she planned to tell me?”
“No.”
“Did she indicate that she was worried or upset?”
“No.”
“Did you see her the day she died?”
“No.”
This was not going well, Irene thought. She could feel Luke patching her, waiting for her to set him loose so that he could use his own, less polite style of interrogation.
She scrolled back through her memory to come up with a new angle.
“Connie, I realize that you feel you owe the Webb family your loyalty, and I agree with you. But yo lso owe something to my family don’t you?”
Connie crushed the dish towel in one fist. She took another step back. “Maybe I owed something to your pa, but he’s dead, God rest his soul.”
“Death doesn’t cancel all debts,” Irene said quietly. “My father is gone, but I’m still here. For the sake of his memory; will you please tell me whatever you can about Pamela’s last days here in Dunsley?”
Connie’s face crumpled. She gave a vast sigh of weary surrender. “Promise me you won’t tell him alked to you.”
“Do you mean Chief McPherson?” Luke asked.
Connie blinked several times, alarmed. “You can’t tell him, either. He’d likely go straight to—” She broke off suddenly “Never mind.” She switched her attention back to Irene. “Look, I don’t really know anything, and that’s the honest truth.”
“Just tell me what you do know,” Irene said.
“Well, four days before you found her dead, I got a call from Pamela asking me to get the house ready for her. Nothing strange about that. She didn’t use the place often, but when she did, she’d call me u nd ask me to make sure there was food in the refrigerator and clean sheets on the beds and so on.”
“Did you see her after she arrived?”
Connie shook her head quickly. “No. Like I said, I just got things ready and then I left. Someone said they saw her drive through town the next day. Two days later she was dead. That’s all I know.”
Irene smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Did she ask you to stock the refrigerator fo ore than one person?”
Connie frowned. “No.”
“So she wasn’t expecting anyone else to join her?”
Connie shook her head. “I don’t think so. She would have asked me to make sure there were some cocktail crackers and cheese and plenty of booze on hand if she was planning on entertaining some o er fancy city friends.”
Irene stilled. “She didn’t ask you to buy any liquor?”
“Not this time.”
Luke planted one hand against the wall of the house. “There was an empty pitcher and a martini glas n the table when we found her.”
Connie made a vague gesture with one hand. “I heard about that. Don’t know where she got the booze. Usually she had me pick it up, except for the wine, of course.”
“The wine?” Luke repeated carefully.
“She was real picky about her wine. She always brought it with her. But when it came to the hard stuff she had an arrangement with Joe down at the Dunsley Market.
He knew what she liked and kept it on hand for her.” Connie shrugged. “I reckon she must have brought the martini makings with her from the city this time.”
“Liquor keeps well for a long period of time,” Irene said. “Pamela could have left a few bottles in the house the last time she was in town.”
“No,” Connie said with great certainty. “She never left any booze in the house.
Everyone around here knew that. She always said it would have been an open invitation to every teen on the lake to break in and steal it. She said she didn’t want to be responsible for some local kids getting drunk and driving a car off Lakefront Road into the water. Said it would have been bad for the senator’s image.”
“How much food did you buy for her?” Irene asked.
“What?” Connie used both hands to twist the dish towel.
“Enough for a couple of days, perhaps? A long weekend?”
“Oh, the food.” Connie’s grip on the towel lessened slightly. “That was a bit strange, now that I think about it. When she called she said she wanted enough milk and cereal and salad makings and such t ast about a week.”
“What was strange about that?”
“Usually she just came for a weekend, three days at the most. Can’t remember the last time she planned to stay for a whole week. And all by herself, too. She always had a man with her when she showed u n town.”
“Always?” Irene repeated carefully.
Connie made a face. “You remember how when Pamela was a teenager, she always had boys hanging around her like bees around a honey pot?”
“Yes.”
“Well, some things never change. There was always a man somewhere in the vicinity.”
Irene thought about the pink-and-white bedroom. “Where did they sleep?”
Connie looked bewildered. “At the house, of course. Where else would they sleep?”
“I mean, which bedroom in the house?”
“Pamela always used the master bedroom on account of it had the deck and the view of the lake. Her guests used the spare bedrooms. There was one upstairs and one down.”
“She didn’t put any of her guests into her old bedroom? The one she used when she was growing up?”
“Oh, no,” Connie said. “She never let anyone use that room.”
“Did she ever tell you why?” Irene asked.
“No.” Connie hesitated. “She was a little strange about that room, and that’s a fact.
Always made it real clear that she wanted it kept exactly as it was. I wasn’t even allowed to move the furniture around in there. Guess she was sentimental about it or something.”
“Thank you, Connie.” Irene stepped back. “I appreciate your patience. You’ve been very kind to answer my questions.”
“That’s all you want?” Connie asked, brightening slightly.
“Yes.”