The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [37]
“Why?” When she turned back to face Simon, her eyes were rimmed in red.
“Because someone has gotten away with murder for almost thirty years.”
“I suppose you could get a nice book deal out of a story like that, couldn’t you?” Betsy said. “What are you really looking for?”
“The truth.” He looked directly into her eyes. “I’m only looking for the truth.”
“That sounds awfully noble,” she scoffed.
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“And supposing you do find the truth, Mr. Keller. What will you do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Simon responded as honestly as he could. “Not knowing what that truth might be, I can’t say where it would lead or what I might do.”
Betsy wheeled herself back to the window and stared out for so long that Simon began to think she’d forgotten he was there.
Finally, she turned and asked, “Do you have any suspects in mind, Mr. Keller?”
“None. But I thought if I could find out who her friends were, who her lovers were . . .”
Betsy chewed on the inside of her bottom lip frantically, as if debating something within herself.
“She may have confided in Jude,” she said with a certain deliberation.
“Jude?”
“Her roommate from college that I mentioned earlier.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find her?”
Betsy’s gaze shifted from the image of her sister to Simon and back again, as if the internal debate continued. She held the photograph with both hands, her response so slow in coming that Simon thought perhaps she was ignoring the question.
“As a matter of fact, I do. Just the other day I got a copy of a letter that Everett sent to her, and it had her address on it.”
“Who is Everett?”
“The family lawyer.” Betsy returned the photo to its place atop the piano. “Jude was the sole beneficiary of my sister’s estate. Everett Jackson was the executor. There is a trust that pays out annually, so of course he would know her whereabouts.”
“Your sister named her college roommate the sole beneficiary of her estate?” Simon frowned and without thinking asked, “Not you?”
When he realized what he had said, Simon flushed deepest red from his scalp to his toes. “I am so sorry. I can’t believe I said anything that crass. Of course, it’s none of my business.”
“You’re certainly not the first person who commented on that very thing, but I assure you, I don’t mind at all. My sister and I had equal shares of our mother’s estate, and that was what went to Jude. As the only surviving child, I have inherited Wild Springs and my father’s entire estate. Unfortunately, I have no children to pass it on to. . . .”
Betsy’s eyes clouded again, then, just as quickly, cleared.
“I’ve never begrudged Jude the portion of Mother’s estate that went to her,” Betsy continued. “She’s had to work very hard for everything, or so I understand. Worked her way through college, through graduate school. Blythe mentioned once that Jude had thousands of dollars in college loans to pay off.”
Betsy paused again, then added, “Jude was a very good friend to Blythe. I thought it was wonderful that my sister chose to take care of her. Frankly, I didn’t need the money. Jude did. I’m sure it has made her life much easier.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“It’s the truth. Oh, not that one couldn’t always find a way to spend an extra six or seven mill, you know.”
Simon choked.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. The money was Blythe’s to do with as she pleased. I daresay she spent her share of it while she was alive. Blythe liked to travel, liked pretty clothes, and had quite the adventurous spirit.” Betsy wheeled her chair to a bookcase and slid a fat leather album from a center shelf. She flipped through it for a moment, then turned and, holding it out to Simon, said, “This might give you a sense of what I mean about Blythe’s spirit. Feel free to look through it while I locate that letter from Everett.”
Betsy handed over the album, then left the room, the wheels of her chair turning silently on the thick Oriental carpet. Simon watched her disappear around the corner into the hallway, then opened