Free Inherit the Dead by Jonathan Santlofer Page A

that he can use anyone. The poor child . . . on the one hand, her bone-thin mama bear, and on the other, Norman the snake.”
    “But her father claims to have no knowledge of her whereabouts. He seems as distressed as her mother.”
    Lilith sniffed.
    Perry waited and then asked, “Do you believe that Angel might be with Larry, the yacht broker, or James, the cyber heir?”
    “No, they were safe. They were the kind of men she should have been playing with,” Lilith said. She spun on him. “Don’t judge her. You have to understand the beauty of her soul. Men have done what they will through the ages. Angel . . . she doesn’t hurt them, she gives. She allows them to entertain her; she gives them the pleasure of her company.”
    Perry stood his ground and fought for patience.
    “So?”
    “You know, I would never speak to the police like this,” she told him.
    “I’m grateful, truly grateful, that you’re speaking to me. But help me, please, Lilith.” Perry spoke softly, his eyes on her, trying hard to keep her engaged and on his side.
    Lilith sighed. She walked over to the stereo control again. This time she played a very slow Sinatra number.
    “Dance with me again. Let me lie against your chest. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
    He really felt like a male escort then. But if that’s what it took.
    He walked over to her and took her in his arms. She eased her head against his chest as he held her and they moved slowly, doing little more than just shuffling their feet.
    “This is nice,” Lilith said. She arched her body against his. The scent of her perfume was subtle; the tease of her hair against his chin was both evocative and oddly sad.
    He pulled away from her slightly. “You’re Lilith Bates,” he said quietly. “Talented. Beautiful. You can have anyone you want. You don’t need to try to prostitute a private eye who is trying to help your friend.”
    “Ah, so you’ll go only so far!” she said, breaking away from him.
    “Lilith—”
    She sat down on the settee, glaring at him. “Yes, I can get many men myself,” she told him.
    “But?”
    “But they’re not real,” she said softly. “Oh, they’re flesh and blood, but they’re always playing a game. Who is in the paper, who has made the most money, who is in the midst of scandal! Where lies the promise for the royalty of the future!” She smiled at him. “Don’tanswer me—I’m not looking for an answer. Sit down and I’ll tell you what I know.”
    He came over to join her and sat at one end of the settee. He could see that, outside, an icy rain was falling again. It seemed ominous.
    “It’s the tattoo boy, that’s who it is!” she said, though she seemed sorry the moment she’d said it, a hand to her mouth and her eyes looking away from him.
    “The tattoo boy?”
    “Oh, yes, Angel could have anyone. And you know what happens when you can have anyone?”
    “What?”
    Her lips curled in that bittersweet smile of hers. She picked up her glass of champagne and refilled it. “Drink!” she told him.
    Obediently, he drained his glass. He watched her as she refilled it.
    “Don’t worry, Perry Christo. I am not seducing you. I prefer not to drink alone—though, certainly, I will do so.”
    He sipped his champagne, watching her.
    “When you can get whoever you want, you want that one person out of a million who plays hard to get.”
    “And in Angel’s case, that was this tattoo boy?”
    Lilith nodded. It was clear now that she couldn’t stop talking. “He’s really a no-good grease monkey. A mechanic, can you imagine!”
    Well, he could, actually, but he understood that Lilith couldn’t, her remark so biting it seemed almost personal.
    “So Angel fell for a mechanic . . . who wanted nothing to do with her?” Perry asked, fishing.
    “Oh, I didn’t say he wanted nothing to do with her. The two had an affair—a love affair—a passion that ran hot and deep, and was carnal and sweaty and . . . quite wonderful,