Sure, she can pop on up to Beaulac to lurk outside Brian Roth’s funeral, I thought sourly, but she’s still going to make me drive to Mandeville to interview her? And I was willing to bet that the AC in her car worked pretty damn well. On the other hand, the trip to Mandeville would conveniently keep me out of the office for the rest of the day. That was a win.

The drive to Mandeville was uneventful, and it didn’t take me long to find the complex where she lived. I pulled in and realized quickly that even though it wasn’t a three-story house on the shore of Lake Pearl, Elena Sharp’s new residence was by no means a mere apartment. From the gated entrance—complete with a security guard who actually checked my credentials—to the lushly landscaped surroundings, the entire complex screamed wealth.

I spied Elena Sharp’s distinctive red Mercedes, parked between a Lexus and a BMW. I stuffed my grungy Taurus into a spot next to an Audi, then walked down a path shaded with flowering crape myrtles to her unit. I rang the doorbell and heard the deep, sonorous tones vibrate beyond the oak and glass door, followed by the sound of heels on marble. A few seconds later the door was opened by Elena Sharp.

She was a few inches taller than me and wearing heels as well, which gave her enough of a height advantage that she was most definitely looking down at me. She wore a strapless mid-calf-length formfitting dress that molded over a flat stomach, narrow hips, and generous tits that I had a feeling were not factory originals. On her the dress looked elegant and expensive. On me it would have looked tawdry and pathetic. Actually, on me it would have looked stolen as well, since I figured it probably cost several hundred dollars. Not that I knew that much about fashion, but I could tell what was way out of my price range.

“Ms. Sharp, I’m Detective Kara Gillian with the Beaulac Police Department,” I said as I extended my hand. “As I stated on the phone, I’m investigating the circumstances surrounding your husband’s death.”

Her eyes flicked over me, taking in my clothing, my gun and badge, even my hairstyle—or lack thereof. I had a fleeting sensation of being cataloged, and I had to wonder if she could tell that I shopped mostly at stores that ended in Mart. Her eyes went back to mine, and she reached out and clasped my hand in a brief shake. Her manicure was perfect, her hand cool and smooth in mine. “Detective Gillian,” she said, polite smile curving her lips. “Please come in.” She stepped back and motioned me in. I obliged, then followed her as she turned and led the way to a sitting room.

The sitting room was about the same size as the one in my house, except that in my house it was called a living room and definitely looked lived in. This was a room where one was expected to sit and perhaps sip tea and speak of lovely things in soft and cultured tones. Everything here looked expensive and elegant, with sleek furniture that exuded an aura of quality, fresh flowers on the coffee table, and a rolltop desk beneath a window that offered a stunning view of Lake Pontchartrain. It was beautiful, but I had a hard time imagining anyone spending much time in the room.

She sat smoothly on a sleek couch that I figured cost more than every stick of furniture in my house. The only other place to sit in the room was a large wingback chair that I knew without a doubt would swallow me whole, but I didn’t really want to sit on the couch with her if I was going to be questioning her. I gave a mental sigh and sat carefully on the forward edge of the wingback, telling myself I didn’t really look ridiculous. “I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,” I began, setting my notebook on my lap.

Elena Sharp crossed her legs and laced her fingers over her knee. “And I appreciate you making the drive to Mandeville, Detective Gillian,” she said, with a slight nod as if to say, There now, we have the pleasantries out of the way.

“So, Davis was murdered,” she continued, mouth quirked in a humorless smile. “I take it I’m a suspect?”

Oh, yeah, she wasn’t stupid by any stretch. “You understand that I can’t rule you out.”

“Oh, I know.” She closed her eyes briefly, then shook her head and sighed. “One more way for Davis to screw me.”

“You moved out and filed for divorce the day before his death,” I said, glancing at my notes. “How long were you two having marital difficulties?”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Oh, no. We were not having marital difficulties at all. I was. I … didn’t want to be with him anymore.” An odd mixture of pain and fear flickered across her face, quickly smoothed away into a polite smile—though the echo of it lingered in her eyes.

Interesting. Had she been afraid of her late husband? Enough to leave him? Or have him killed? “Yes, ma’am,” I said, glancing again at my notes. “You called the police twice in the last three years for domestic violence complaints.” I watched her face, keeping my expression friendly and neutral.

“Yes,” she said. “So I did.”

“You never pursued charges.”

She stood and walked to the window, folding her arms across her chest and almost hugging herself as she gazed out at the lake. “I know that everyone thought I was just a stupid trophy wife. And you know what? I was—the trophy part, that is.” She ran her hands unconsciously over her dress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “But I’m not stupid. I grew up in a trailer, went to the public high school, and learned pretty early on that what money and influence couldn’t get, a blow job and a fake orgasm could.” She shrugged and gave a self-conscious laugh.

I suddenly felt better about my own financial situation. “So you married Davis for his money.”

She gave me an oh, please look. “Well, duh. He was almost twenty years older than me. But I’m not a total mercenary. We actually had a lot of fun together, and I never really expected him to ask me to marry him.” A faint smile flickered across her face. “Shocked the shit out of me, to be honest.”

“So, now that he’s dead, you’re pretty well set, right?”

Elena shook her head. “I’m all right, but if you’re thinking that I inherited the massive Sharp fortune, then you’re sadly mistaken. I signed a rock-solid prenuptial agreement with that man.” She lowered her head and looked at me. “I had my own lawyer look it over damn carefully too, and a few changes were made, but we managed to come to some agreeable terms and went ahead and hitched on up.”

“It sounds like a corporate merger,” I said before I could censor myself.

She gave a small bark of laughter. “It was, in a way. Like I said, we had fun, but I also looked out for myself. And Davis was the same way. Who knows; maybe that’s what he liked about me. I’m attracted to powerful men. I guess that’s my downfall.” A look of regret crossed her face, then she shrugged her bare shoulders and it was gone. She moved to the desk and opened a drawer, removing a manila envelope. “Anyway, in a divorce, this is what I would get,” she said, as she pulled a sheet of paper out of the envelope and passed it to me.

I skimmed the page from her prenuptial agreement quickly. “That’s … a pretty decent sum of money,” I pointed out, trying not to look as boggled as I was.

She gave me a wry smile. “Yeah, I know. Trust me, I remember where I came from. Unlike a lot of the rich bitches that I’ve hung around with, I can appreciate how rare this sort of lifestyle is. I’d have been able to live the rest of my life in pretty decent comfort.”

“And what do you get now that he died before your divorce was final?”

A ghost of a smile curved her lips. “Well, he has two kids from his first wife, and they get most of his estate.” She pulled another sheet of paper from the envelope and handed it to me. “I get a lump sum, plus a monthly stipend for the rest of my life.”