“Sadie Esterbrook.”
“I know,” Marco said, waving his hand for her to sit again and going around to the opposite side of the metal table. They both lowered to their chairs. “I’m a big fan of your films.”
“Thank you,” Sadie said automatically. She searched Marco’s features. He had a kind face, but she sensed the keenness in his brown eyes. He’d be an ideal interviewer because his face and manner inspired trust, but he was smart, she guessed. He wasn’t the cold, sly detective whom she’d imagined grilling Mat, but he wasn’t the type to be trifled with or underestimated, either.
“I knew your father,” Marco said warmly. “Not well. I met him when he spoke at a local Rotary Club. He was quite a businessman. I admire the work he’s done with Environmental Innovations. So did most of the people at the gathering, although I think a few people who attended were more interested in saying they’d met the famous actress Sadie Esterbrook’s father.”
Sadie tried to smile, but anxiety turned it into a grimace. Her father had passed away unexpectedly several years ago. She thought maybe Marco didn’t know that, and she didn’t have the energy or desire to bring up the topic, given the circumstances.
Marco cleared his throat and straightened. “Right. I’m sure you aren’t interested in pleasantries at the moment. I understand that you requested to see someone in association with Shelly DaRosa’s murder?”
“Is Mat all right?”
“He’s fine. I just left him. May I ask what your connection is to Mat DaRosa?”
“He’s a family friend. I’ve known him since we were both seven years old. Is it true that you suspect him of killing Shelly?”
“Where did you hear that?”
“From Shelly’s mother. Vicki Applethwaite. When I saw the news this morning, about Shelly’s death, I called her.”
Marco leaned forward, looking politely interested, resting his forearms on the metal table. “So you know Shelly DaRosa’s mother? Did you know Shelly, as well?”
Sadie nodded. “We were all in the same grade in school: Mat, Shelly and I. Shelly and I were involved in a lot of the same activities: theatre, volleyball, ski team. The Applethwaites went to the same church that we did. Shelly and I weren’t best friends or anything, but our families knew each other.”
“Enough so that you knew Mrs. Applethwaite’s phone number.”
“I didn’t have the number personally. I’ve been staying for the last few nights at my mom’s house in Tahoe Shores, taking care of an elderly family member while my mother and stepfather are away for my sisters’ weddings. I was supposed to join them in Antigua today, in fact. Before all this happened with Shelly. Anyway, my mom had Vicki’s number in her Rolodex, so that’s how I knew her number.”
Sadie shook her head in mounting frustration. All these peripheral details didn’t matter. This wasn’t what she’d come here to say. “Detective, if you suspect Mat of shooting Shelly, you couldn’t be more wrong.”
“What makes you say that with so much certainty?” Marco asked. He searched in his suit jacket and withdrew a pen. He opened his notebook to a blank page and poised his pen over the paper.
“Because I know Mat. He’d never do something like that. Never.”
“Is that it?” Detective Marco asked her after a pregnant pause.
“No,” Sadie said, glancing nervously at the black window and then raising her chin defiantly. “Mat was with me last night.”
Detective Marco looked politely interested, even though she suspected he’d suddenly gone on high mental alert. “What times were you with him, specifically?”
Sadie hesitated. She knew Mat could never commit murder, let alone shoot his wife—eight times, no less. Maybe Sadie could stretch the time they’d spent together last night, to give him an alibi?
But no, it’d never work. It wouldn’t work because Mat wouldn’t lie or dissemble about something so important.
If he’s innocent, why would he lie?
And what are the chances that Shelly would be murdered after what had happened between Mat and me earlier… what almost happened?
Don’t think about that. One event had nothing to do with the other.
Absolutely nothing.
It struck her that it seemed like she was trying to convince herself, as much as anyone. She didn’t know why she was getting so worked up about it, anyway. Surely Mat had already told the police everything he’d done yesterday. Detective Marco likely knew perfectly well that Mat had been at the Esterbrook house yesterday. He was just waiting to see if Sadie corroborated what Mat had said.
“Mat stopped by the house last night at around eight o’clock to check on Grandpa Joe and me,” she said quietly.
“Your grandfather can verify his visit?”
“Yes. But he’s not really my grandfather. My sisters and I just call him Grandpa Joe, because he lived next to us our whole lives. Joe Beckett. That’s his name.
Marco nodded and wrote the name down in the notebook. “I’ll get his contact information from you before we finish here. How long did DaRosa stay at your mom’s house?”
Sadie swallowed thickly.
“Ms. Esterbrook?
“He left at around nine or ten.”
One of Marco’s eyebrows rose a quarter of an inch.
“You can’t be more exact?”
She cleared her throat and studied her interlaced fingers on the table. “It probably was around nine thirty,” she said.
“How did DaRosa seem during the visit?”
Her gaze sprang up to Marco’s face. “Seem?”
“Yeah. Was he in normal spirits? Did anything unusual happen during the visit?”
Unusual.
The detective’s question sent her back momentarily into a vivid, anxious memory.
Yeah. She’d say something unusual had happened. She and Mat DaRosa had been alone together for the first time in twelve years. What had occurred between them had left Sadie a quivering, anxious mess…
Especially now that she knew that Mat’s wife had been brutally killed on the same night.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 34
