He sat alone in Booley's office, bent over with his head cradled in his hands as he tried to bring some sort of order to the turmoil of his thoughts. Evidently he was the prime suspect. After the fight he and Jess had had, he supposed that was logical. It made him so angry he wanted to punch someone, but it was logical.
He hadn't been arrested, and he wasn't particularly worried, at least not about that. He hadn't killed Jess, so unless some evidence was fabricated against him, there was no way to prove that he had. He was needed at home to take care of things. From the brief glimpse he'd had of her, Aunt Lucinda had been devastated; she wouldn't be up to making the funeral arrangements. And Jess was his wife; he wanted to do this last service for her, mourn her, grieve for the girl she had been, the wife he had hoped for. It hadn't worked out for them, but still she hadn't deserved to die like that.
Tears burned his eyes, dripped through his fingers. Jess. Beautiful, unhappy Jess. He had wanted her to be a partner rather than a parasite that constantly demanded more and more, but it hadn't been in her nature to give. There hadn't been enough love in the world to satisfy her, and eventually he had stopped even trying.
She was gone. He couldn't bring her back, couldn't protect her. But what about Roanna? Had she killed his wife?
What should he do now? Tell Booley his suspicions? Throw Roanna to the wolves?
He couldn't do it. He didn't, couldn't, believe that Roanna would deliberately have killed Jessie. Hit her, yes. The blow might even have been struck in self-defense, because Jessie was-had been-perfectly capable of physically attacking Roanna. Ro was only seventeen, a juvenile; if she were arrested and tried and found guilty, her sentence would be light, for the crime. But even a light sentence would be a death sentence for her. Webb knew as sure as he was sitting there that Roanna wouldn't survive so much as a year's sentence to a juvenile detention hall. She was too
frail, too vulnerable. She would stop eating altogether. And she would die.
He thought of the scene at the house. He'd been hustled out of the house before he'd been able to speak with anyone, though his mother had tried. But what he'd seen in that brief moment was branded on his mind: Yvonne, fiercely protective, ready to do battle for him, but then he'd expected nothing else from his stalwart mother; Aunt Lucinda, staring at him with numb grief-, Aunt Gloria and Uncle Harlan, horrified, fascinated accusation in their eyes. No doubt about it, they thought he was guilty, damn them. And Roanna, in pale and frozen isolation on the other side of the room, not even lifting her head to look at him.
He'd spent the past ten years protecting her. It had become second nature to him. Even now, as angry as he was at her, he couldn't stop the instinct to shield her, If he thought she'd done it deliberately, that would be different, but he didn't. So here he was, protecting with his silence the girl who had probably killed his wife, and the bitterness of the choice filled his gut.
The office door opened behind him and he straightened, brusquely wiping the remaining dampness from his eyes. Booley walked around the desk and sank heavily into the creaky leather chair, his shrewd eyes on Webb's face, taking note of the evidence of tears.
"I'm sorry about this, Webb. I know it's a shock."
"Yeah." His voice was rough.
"I got a job to do, though. You were heard telling Jessie you'd do anything to get rid of her."
The best way through this minefield, Webb figured, was to tell the truth-up to a point, when it would be best to say nothing at all.
"Yeah, I said it. Right after I told her to get a divorce. I meant I'd agree to any settlement."
"Even giving up Davencourt?"
"Davencourt isn't mine to give, it's Aunt Lucinda's. That decision would be hers."
"Jessie threatened to have Lucinda cut you out of her will." Webb gave an abrupt shake of his head.
"Aunt Lucinda wouldn't do anything like that just because of a divorce." Booley crossed his arms behind his head, linking his fingers to form a cradle for his skull. He studied the young man before him. Webb was big and strong, a natural athlete; he had the strength to crush Jessie's skull with one blow, but had he done so? He abruptly changed the subject.
"Supposedly Jessie caught you and Roanna at some hanky-panky in the kitchen. Want to tell me about it?"
Webb's eyes flashed with a hint of the cold, ferocious fury he was holding bottled up inside.
"I was never unfaithful to Jess," he said shortly.
"Never?" Booley let a little doubt slide into his tone.
"Then just what did Jessie see that set her off?"
"A kiss." Let Booley have the unvarnished truth, as far as it went.
"You kissed Roanna? For God's sake, Webb, don't you think she's a mite young for you?"
"Damn it, of course she's too young!" Webb snapped. "it wasn't like that."
"Wasn't like what? What do you have going with her?"
"I don't have anything going with her." Unable to contain himself any longer, Webb lunged to his feet, causing Booley to tense and automatically lay his big hand on the butt of his pistol, but he relaxed when Webb began pacing the confines of the small office.
"Then why did you kiss her?"
"I didn't. She kissed me." Initially, that is. Booley didn't need to know the rest of it.
"Why'd she do that?"
Webb rubbed the back of his neck.
"Roanna's like a kid sister to me. She was upset-" "Why?"
"Aunt Gloria and Uncle Harlan moved in today. She doesn't get along with Aunt Gloria."
Booley made a grunting sound, as if he could understand that.
"And you were ... comforting her?"