"I gather, from what Ken says, she had a problem with low self-esteem."

"Among other things. She had all the inclinations of an addict. She smoked. She drank. She took pills any chance she got. She toked two or three joints a day. For a while, she dropped acid."

"How'd she get any work done? I'd be a basket case."

"It didn't affect her in the least. Besides, she could afford all that stuff, which is too bad in a way. She never really had to work because we inherited money. Fortunately, she never got into cocaine or she'd have gone through every cent."

"Wasn't that hard on you, her being out of control?"

"It was hard on all of us. I was always the heavy-parental, responsible. Especially since we were so young when our parents died. Isabelle got married, but I still felt like her mother. I admired her tremendously, but she was difficult. She couldn't sustain a relationship. She had nothing to give on a day-to-day basis. She was very self-involved. It was 'me, me, me.'

"Narcissistic," I supplied.

"Yes, but I don't want to give the wrong impression. She had some wonderful qualities. She was warm and witty and she was terribly bright. She was fun. She had a good time. She really knew how to play. She taught me a lot about how to lighten up."

"Tell me about David Barney."

"David. That's a tough one," she said and then paused to consider. "I'll try to be fair. I'd say he's handsome. Charming. Trivial. He and his wife moved up here from Los Angeles when he joined Peter's firm."

"He was married?"

"Not for long."

"What happened to his ex?"

"Laura? She's still around someplace. After David dumped her, she was forced to go to work, like every other ex-wife in town. God, women are getting screwed in divorces these days. For every guy who claims he's been 'taken' by some babe, I can show you six, eight, ten women who've been 'had' financially. Anyway, I'm sure she's in the book."

"Go on."

"Yes, well, David was a snob. He didn't want to work for a living any more than Isabelle did, except she was loving every minute of the work, not surprisingly. I mean, she had this sudden celebrity status and she ate it up. He was pushing her to sell the business while it was hot, before it peaked. He had some cockamamie scheme about prefabs and franchises. I'm not really sure what his idea was, but she hated it. By then, she was disenchanted with the marriage anyway, feeling bullied and suffocated. She wanted out from under."

"If they'd divorced, the business would have been considered community property, wouldn't it?"

"Sure. It would have been divided in half and he'd have lost really big. What'd she need him for? She could find half a dozen guys to fill his slot, but that wasn't true for him. Without her, he had zip. On the other hand, if she died, the business came to him intact… more or less. Her portion would go to Shelby, but he didn't have to worry about a four-year-old. At that point, Isabelle had already come up with so many preliminary sketches he could afford to coast and survive on the proceeds. Plus, with her dead, he must have counted on collecting the insurance. Again, some would go to Shelby, but he's still going to rake in a bunch."

"If he wins," I said. "Where's the house he leased when they separated?"

She flapped her hand toward the ocean. "As you leave the drive you turn left and it's down half a mile. A big white monstrosity, one of those contemporary houses made out of glass and concrete. It's so ugly, you can't miss it."

"Within easy walking distance?"

"He could have crawled it's so close."

"Were you here at the cottage the night she was killed?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't hear the shot. She'd phoned down here earlier to tell me the Seegers would be arriving late. They'd called about the car trouble and she didn't want me to worry if I saw lights on in the house. We chatted for a while and she sounded great. She'd been such a mess."

"Because of his harassment?"

"And the quarrels and the threats. Her life was a nightmare, but she was excited about San Francisco, looking forward to a little shopping, the theater, and the restaurants."

"What time did you talk to her?"

"About nine, I guess. It wasn't late. Isabelle was a night owl, but she knew I was usually in bed by ten. The first time I realized there was something wrong was when Don Seeger came down. He said they were worried because they couldn't get Isabelle to answer the door. They could see the fisheye was missing from the door and the hole looked burned. I grabbed a robe, got my key, and went up to the main house with him. We went in through the back door and found her in the foyer. I felt like a zombie. I was absolutely numb. So cold. It was awful, the worst night of my life." I could see tears for the first time and her face was suffused with pain. She fumbled in her pocket for a Kleenex and blew her nose. "Sorry," she murmured.