Best Laid Plans
may be unscrupulous reporters digging around.”
    “I don’t understand what you’re saying.” She turned to Lucy, confusion in her dark eyes. “How did he die? It was an accident, right? It had to be an accident.”
    Lucy didn’t say anything, deferring to Barry.
    “The Bexar County Medical Examiner’s office is performing the autopsy, and we hope to have answers shortly,” Barry said, “but you should know that his body was found at the White Knight Motel in downtown San Antonio.”
    She sighed in relief, though her eyes were still confused and wary. “It’s not Harper. There has been a huge mistake. Harper is in Dallas on business. He won’t be home until tomorrow morning. And he would never go to a motel.”
    “We have confirmed that the deceased is Mr. Worthington. He flew into San Antonio last night, arriving at approximately ten thirty P.M. He took a taxi from the airport to the motel, and had a return flight scheduled at one thirty-five A.M. He never made the return flight.”
    Adeline didn’t say anything. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her jaw quivered, and her left hand fumbled with the simple pearl necklace around her neck, as if touching it would stop the shaking.
    Barry asked, “Were you aware that he was flying into town last night?”
    She closed her eyes and shook her head.
    “When did you last speak to him?”
    “Five thirty last night.” Her voice was a whisper and she cleared her throat. “He was on his way to a business dinner, and I was on my way to the charity event.”
    “Do you know who he was dining with?”
    She shook her head. “We didn’t talk about business.”
    Barry waited until Adeline was looking at him, then said, “An eyewitness saw a blonde woman who appeared to be a prostitute at the motel with your husband. Are you aware if your husband habitually used prostitutes?”
    Lucy winced at the indelicacy of Barry’s question.
    Adeline shook her head emphatically. “Harper? Absolutely not.”
    “I’m sorry to be so blunt, Adeline,” Barry said, his voice a bit softer, “but Mr. Worthington’s body was found in a compromising position and I don’t want you to hear about it from the media. We’re working closely with the crime scene investigators and the coroner to determine exactly what happened, but it’s important that we know everything about your husband’s medical conditions. Did he have a heart condition?”
    Adeline didn’t say anything. Her eyes were wet, but she wasn’t crying. She stared at first Barry, then Lucy, and then stood up. “I—I need a minute. Just two minutes. Please.”
    Barry stood, so Lucy followed. “Of course, take all the time you need.”
    Adeline walked briskly from the room.
    Barry immediately got on his phone. Lucy felt compassion for the woman, who had to learn about her husband’s perversion from two FBI agents. It had certainly thrown her, but Adeline seemed to have a spine of steel underneath the Southern charm.
    Lucy looked around the room, trying to get a better feel for Adeline Reyes-Worthington.
    Her office was immaculate, her desk devoid of clutter. A dainty straight-back chair sat directly on the plush carpet. There was no mat or impressions in the carpet, suggesting that she didn’t spend much time working at this desk. No phone, no charger for the computer, and only one slender drawer in the desk. The decorative bookshelves contained a vast collection of leather-bound hardcover books and fancy knick-knacks.
    Lucy had the distinct impression that Adeline didn’t work in this office, that she used it only to meet with people who came to her home. It didn’t necessarily mean anything, but the elected officials who Lucy had known when she lived in D.C. often worked from a home office.
    She heard Barry wrap up his conversation. It was clear he was speaking to someone at headquarters, but she couldn’t tell who it was from his end.
    Adeline walked back into the room five minutes after she’d left. Her eyes
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