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“We’re not connected to her,” he said. “That’s an absurd accusation—"
“Elliot,” his wife said.
“She knows to stay away from Rita. Or at least we thought she did.”
“It’s rebellion,” Diane said. “Hilly was such a good teenager. But lately, now that she’s grown, now she’s having a rebellious streak. I wish, I really do wish, she’d done this at thirteen.”
“When was the last time you spoke to your daughter?”
“It’s been more than a week,” Diane said.
“But we know Hilly’s fine. She’s using her credit card. I’ve been keeping tabs on it.” That was a foolish assumption, particularly when Rita Lindquist was involved.
“He’s such a worry wart,” Diane said. “Always checking up on her. That’s why she doesn’t come home, Elliot. She wants her privacy.”
I asked, “Do you happen to remember the charges she’s been making? It might help you figure out where she is?”
“Well, um, she took a sightseeing tour on the Chicago River.”
“Can you imagine?” her mother asked. “She’d never do that kind of thing with us.”
“A grocery store, dry cleaners, Marina City Fashion Nails,” he continued.
The last stopped me. I remembered that the corpse had recently had a pedicure—and possibly a manicure—making it more likely that it was their daughter. I asked, “Does she know anyone in Marina City?”
“No,” Elliot said, simply.
“Well, not that we know of. We don’t know everyone she knows,” his wife qualified.
Marina City. Now I was even more sure that’s where Rita and Possum were staying—or at least where they had been staying since I chased her out of Andrew Happ’s. I just had to figure out what to do with the information.
“This is all making me nervous,” Diane said. “There’s something you’re not saying, isn’t there?”
“Does Rita think you have something to do with her father’s death?” I suggested.
“We didn’t though,” Elliot said quickly. “We had no idea the kind of people we were involved with. We’re really just victims in this whole thing.”
I wondered how true that was.
Chapter Fourteen
I’d just takenthe first bite of my dessert when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and there was ASA Linda Sanchez. I was nearly alone at the table, the Buckmans having left and Gloria flitting off to do her job. I could have told Sanchez to fuck off, but then I wouldn’t find out what it was she wanted. I indicated Gloria’s chair and said, “Have a seat.”
She sat down and didn’t say anything. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and asked, “What is it you want?”
“I’d like to know what an accused murderer is doing at a society function with Chicago’s premiere gossip columnist.”
“It’s a long story.”
“In my experience, the longer the story the less likely it is to be true.”
I stared at her for a moment. She was very pretty, lush dark hair and velvet brown eyes. I had the feeling she was unused to men saying no to her.
“Rita Lindquist isn’t dead.”
“I heard your attorney is floating that ridiculous theory.” The way she said it though suggested she thought it was anything but ridiculous.
“It seems very important to you that I be convicted of murder, why is that?”
