Harvestland

EIGHT

David Collins III lived in Lexington Heights, what the townies referred to as the "rich borough" of Riggsboro. His Victorian home was similar in style to the others in town, though every home in Lexington Heights was about twice the usual stature.

Eliza and Andrew were playing themselves now. They took off their faux wedding bands as they parked outside the semi-mansion.

They got out of the car, Eliza in a long coat over a black turtleneck and black slacks, Andrew in his tan trench coat over a cheap sports coat and button-up and loosely knotted tie.

"Will you straighten that blasted tie for once in your goddamned life?" Eliza said. "If not for me, then for this meeting. You're bad enough with that half-beard and your Shaun Cassidy hair."

"Keep your shirt on, boss, Jesus," he said, centering the knot in his tie and pulling it up a bit. "Let's talk about you for once. All black, in that turtleneck. Look like a fuckin' Women's Studies major at Vassar."

"Keep talking, asshole."

They approached the tastefully landscaped cobblestone pathway to the front door. They surveyed the expansive grounds.

The Collins home sat before many acres of surrounding land, complete with a small guest house, a horse stable, and myriad fenced-in fields that stretched toward Riggsboro hill country.

A strikingly attractive woman answered the door. She introduced herself as David's wife, Ilene. She had auburn hair and high cheekbones, and the tall lithe body of a model. She looked no more than late twenties, early thirties—whatever she was, she was considerably younger than her husband whom Eliza knew to be in his early fifties.

She and Andrew had done their research. Ilene Simons was David's third wife. His first had been Diane Fischer with whom he had had Melissa. Diane had been admitted into psychiatric care when she suffered a nervous breakdown upon discovering Melissa's dead body. They divorced soon after. Collins's second wife had been a gold-digging socialite from Des Moines named Katherine Nash, and their marriage lasted barely a blip. She smeared Collins's name across the papers in an ugly divorce, and that was the first time rumors came out about extramarital affairs and real estate scams, nothing that was ultimately proven. He had been with his current wife Ilene for over thirteen years. Soon she would beat his first wife's record. Eliza wondered just how young Ilene was when Collins snatched her up.

"My husband's in a business meeting," Ilene told them as she led them inside. She oozed a subtle sexuality that was masked by a WASP-y grace and class. She went on, "Well, more pleasure than business, I'm sure, given it's the weekend and he's home from the office. I can certainly arrange for him to take a break, talk with you two for a spell."

"Appreciated," Andrew said, flashing his panty-dropper smile. When Eliza first met him, there had been something about his general charm and sharp good looks that in spite of his unkempt appearance made even the likes of her sexually frustrated. She was over that now.

Ilene disappeared for awhile and they just stood and took in the marvelous lobby of the Collins home, a huge chandelier hanging above them and a curved stairwell with ornate carvings in the rich mahogany wood leading to a plush upstairs.

The house let in sunlight in that way only rich homes seem able to do, as radiant as a mansion on the sunswept streets of the Beverly or Hollywood Hills.

"Oh, yes, yes, of course," Eliza heard a male voice say. "Let them in to my study."

Ilene returned and led them down a long hallway to a spacious study. On one wall, patio doors looked out on a storybook backyard scene. There was a garden, a fountain, a swimming pool, acres of mowed land so green Eliza wondered if that grass is greener fuss was actually true.