The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [36]
“Why is that?”
“Blythe was a magnet. She couldn’t walk down the street without men falling at her feet.” Betsy laughed good-naturedly and rolled her chair to the piano that stood at one end of the handsome room. She lifted a framed photograph and returned to where Simon sat. “This was the last picture we had of Blythe. She was twenty-seven or so at the time.”
She handed the photo to Simon, who tilted it toward the light. The woman in the photograph was every bit as stunning as Adelaide Anderson had described. Rich dark hair framed a face to which Mother Nature had been very kind. A pert turned-up nose, generous mouth, large round eyes of the deepest lavender-blue fringed with thick black lashes. A megawatt smile that lit up those eyes with the very fire of life.
“She was beautiful,” Simon said simply.
“That is an understatement. I’ve no doubt that she had plenty of dates and may certainly have had a boyfriend—or two, or three—while she lived there. I don’t recall that she ever mentioned anyone special.” She took the photograph that Simon handed back to her and placed it on the table between them. “Of what importance to your book might Blythe’s love life be?”
“Not important, really. Her name just seemed to pop up a lot in connection with Kendall, as I told you, and since he was an important member of the Hayward administration, I thought I’d find out what I could about her. And when I realized that Blythe was from the Philadelphia area and I found the listing for your father in the phone book, I thought, well, Philadelphia’s not so far from Virginia—why not just drive up there and see what I can see?” Simon flashed what he hoped would be his most endearing smile.
“Why not indeed?” Betsy Pierce appeared to study the photo of her sister for a long while.
“Miss Pierce, what do you know about your sister’s death?”
Betsy appeared to jolt in her chair.
“I’m sorry; I probably should have led up to that more gently than I did.” Simon grimaced at his gaffe.
Betsy cleared her throat as if formulating an answer. “I know that she was hit by a car. I know that my father had a lot of unanswered questions. He was very much disturbed that the police never found a suspect. He thought they gave up too easily. He even hired a private detective to look into it, but nothing ever came of that.”
“Adelaide Anderson mentioned that.”
“Who?”
“A reporter who covered the Washington scene back then. She remembered your sister. She mentioned how things changed after Blythe’s death.”
“What things?”
“How the social scene seemed to slow down. She thought perhaps it was because the President was busy comforting his friend.”
“Comforting his friend,” Betsy repeated slowly, her voice flat.
“Miles Kendall,” Simon reminded her.
“I see.” Betsy Pierce went very still, her hands folded in her lap.
“So . . . well, one thing just sort of led to another in my mind.” Simon clasped his hands together and leaned his elbows on his knees. “I mean, here I was gathering information for this book about a former President, and I stumbled onto all sorts of other things.” Simon took a breath, debating with himself for a long minute before adding, “Including an old, apparently unsolved murder.”
Betsy looked up at him sharply.
“I recently had an opportunity to look at the police report regarding your sister’s death. It was surprisingly brief. So I tracked down the police officer who was first on the scene.”
“And he told you . . . ?”
There was no gentle way to say it.
“It appears that the vehicle that ran over your sister did so twice.”
Simon watched her face, waiting for a reaction. When there was none, he said, “Your sister was deliberately run down, Miss Pierce. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if your father knew it. I think he just couldn’t prove it.”
Betsy wheeled her chair to a window overlooking the pastures where her horses grazed in the afternoon sun. When finally she spoke, Betsy asked, “Are you going to try to prove it, Mr. Keller?”
“If I can.” As soon as