He studied her for a moment, then flashed that revolting grin. “I already knew you rented the house.”

“I know,” she said coldly.

He spread his hands wide. “Sorry. It was my duty to check it out, Mrs. Speakman. The lease isn’t in your name, but I traced it back through that corporate name to you.”

“It wouldn’t have been that difficult to do.” It was a subtle insult to his investigative skills, but if he caught the slight, he didn’t take issue with it.

“When’s the last time you saw Burkett?”

She dropped her gaze to her hands, moistly clenched in her lap. She knew the cagey detective would pick up on the body language, but she couldn’t help herself. “Almost six weeks ago.”

“Six weeks? That long?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

She gave him the exact date and saw that Carter wrote it down in his small spiral notebook.

“What made the date memorable?” Rodarte asked.

“I told him that I wouldn’t be coming back.”

He whistled softly. “How’d he take it?”

“He understood and accepted my decision.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically.

“Really.”

“Why did you end the affair?”

“I don’t see the relevance of that.”

“There may be none. Or it could be extremely relevant.”

She lost the staring contest. “What we were doing was wrong. I couldn’t do it anymore. I told him we couldn’t see each other again.”

“Before him, had you had other affairs?”

“No.”

“No one would blame you. In light of Mr. Speakman’s…”

“Mr. Speakman’s what?” she demanded frostily.

He backed down. “Burkett was your first and only affair since you married Speakman?”

“That’s what I said.”

“And when you broke it off, Burkett didn’t argue, put up a fuss, beg you to reconsider?”

“No.”

“Huh.” Thoughtfully, he scratched his acne-scarred cheek. “That doesn’t sound like the Griff Burkett I know.”

Coolly she said, “Then perhaps you don’t know him very well.”

“Apparently you don’t, either, Mrs. Speakman. Because when you called off your affair, Burkett didn’t take it lying down. Not at all. He’s been simmering over it. Last night he came here, overpowered Manuelo Ruiz, then drove a letter opener into your husband’s neck. Classic crime of a jilted lover.”

She forced herself not to look away from him. She deserved his implied scorn, she supposed, although in light of her grief, and guilt, it seemed unusually cruel punishment. It was one thing to endure the censure of people you respected. It was quite another to bear the scorn of someone you held in low esteem.

He got up and walked to the desk. “You’re sure nothing is missing from this room?”

“I don’t believe so. I can’t be sure until I’ve looked more thoroughly.”

“When you feel like it, please do.”

“Certainly.”

“Does this mean anything to you?”

He’d pulled on a pair of latex gloves to pick a single sheet of paper up off the desk. He carried it over to her. “I wanted you to see this before I bagged it as evidence.”

He held the sheet so she could read the typewritten paragraphs. There were three of them. After several tries to get through the first sentence with any degree of comprehension, she looked up at him with puzzlement. “It’s nonsense.”

He laughed shortly. “I’m glad you said that. I thought I was losing it. It made no sense to me, either. It’s just a bunch of big words strung together, right?”

“Just a bunch of big words.”

“Any explanation?”

“No.”

“Do you think your husband typed these paragraphs?”

“Why would he?”

“Beats me. I wondered if maybe he’d lost some of his mental faculties, too.”

She was affronted by the question, and she let it show. “‘Too’?”

“If I seem insensitive, I’m sorry. Your husband’s physical condition was obvious. How was he mentally? A lot of people depended on him being Foster Speakman, CEO. Employees. Stockholders. Even passengers who fly SunSouth relied on him being all there.”

“Let me assure you that he was all there, Mr. Rodarte. Foster was in full command of his faculties.”

“I thought maybe his car accident had jarred something loose.” He tapped the side of his head. “Maybe you hadn’t even noticed.”

“I would have noticed.”

“Well, the signs could’ve slipped past you. You’ve been awfully busy.”

He paused strategically. Busy with your lover. That was the implication. She refused to take the bait and only stared at him with a passivity she was far from feeling.

“Your husband took medication.”

“Yes. Drugs to strengthen his immune system. Others for the health of his digestive tract, which was severely damaged in his accident. Sometimes a sleep medication.”

“Along with those, he took prescriptions for acute anxiety. I’ll spare us some more time here, Mrs. Speakman. I’ve already talked to your husband’s psychiatrist.”

Laura drew a deep breath. “As an adolescent Foster was diagnosed with OCD. Obsessive-”

“I know what it is.”

“Then you also know that it can be controlled with medication.”

“I believe you.” He chuckled. “I’m a little obsessive myself. You poll a hundred people on the street, nearly all are crazy in one way or another.”

Such an inane remark didn’t warrant a response.

“Would you say your husband’s OCD was under control?”

“Yes.”

“Was he depressed?”

“No.”

“Not even just a little?” the detective wheedled. “For instance, he might have been a little depressed over your affair with Burkett. The guy turns my stomach for what he did, but even I gotta admit, he’s got a face the ladies go for. The height. The hair. The gladiator’s body. To a man who’s disabled, like your husband was, that in particular would be a slap in the face. Did he know about Burkett and you?”

She shook her head.

He cupped his ear.

“No,” she said tersely. “He didn’t. Not to my knowledge.” She stood up. “Is that all, Detective?”

“Not quite. Did Burkett try to contact you after the breakup?”

She considered lying, then thought better of it on the chance Rodarte already knew the answer to this question, too. “A couple of times, he called the SunSouth offices and tried to talk his way past Kay. I never took his calls.”

“You haven’t seen him since that day you told him it was over between you?”

“No.”

“Or talked to him?”

“The one time he reached me, I hung up on him.”

“Did he ever issue threats against your husband?”

“Of course not!”

“Did he ever suggest to you that if your handicapped husband was out of the picture, you’d be free to come back to him? Instant divorce. That kind of thing. Did he ever suggest that he might remove your husband?”

She looked at him aghast. “If he had, don’t you think I would have acted on it? Reported it?”

His smirk insinuated much.

She drew herself up straight. “No, Mr. Rodarte. Griff Burkett never posed a threat to either Foster or me.”

“That you know of.”

She was about to speak when she realized that it was a valid speculation. Hedging, she said, “He never threatened me.”

“But he could have threatened your husband without your knowledge.”

“Foster never said-”

“But Burkett could have.”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

Rodarte glanced at his mute partner, his expression tongue-in-cheek. When his attention came back to Laura, he said, “Did Burkett ever mention a hideaway? Ever talk about a friend with a lake cabin, or a private getaway, someplace he may be laying low now?”

“Nothing like that. He didn’t confide in me. We didn’t talk much at all.”

Too late she realized she’d walked right into that one. “No, I guess not,” Rodarte said, leering and casting his partner another glance. “Mrs. Speakman, it goes without saying that if you hear from Burkett, you’ll contact me immediately.”

“Of course.”

“I’m posting some men here at the house.”