Moving away again, Eve pulled out her ’link to schedule an appointment with Mira, and to put a hold on an interview room.
“Ladies.” Roarke spoke from the doorway of their adjoining offices. “Peabody, you look ravishing.”
“I do?” She nearly squealed it. “But in a screen-friendly, trustworthy, public servant kind of way?”
“Yes, indeed. The color’s wonderful on you.”
“Jesus,” Eve said under her breath, and earned a mild stare from her husband.
“Breakfast?” he said.
Peabody watched as Eve scowled, shrugged. Then Roarke lifted his brows with those dreamy eyes steady. Her lieutenant rolled hers, but stomped off to the kitchen.
“You guys don’t even have to talk.” Resting her chin on her fist, Peabody sighed. “You just know.”
“It does come in handy from time to time. How was your date night?”
“It was mag. Really. Mostly because we both agreed we like noisy, crowded clubs better than grown-up, sophisticated ones. But it’s good to try something new.”
“Stop socializing with my partner,” Eve called out from the kitchen.
“Financials,” Peabody mouthed.
“Ah, yes.” Casually, Roarke strolled over, gave a quick glance at the data on screen. He winked at Peabody and sent her pulse scrambling, then continued on to the kitchen where his wife was taking an annoyed bite out of a bagel.
“Breakfast,” she muttered at him.
“Such as it is. Why don’t I go over the financials? I can do it in considerably less time than you or Peabody, which frees you up to go out and browbeat suspects.”
She frowned, chewed. “You’d have to do it straight. No unregistered, no illegal hacking.”
“You underestimate the skill of an honest man.”
“Yeah, but I’m talking to you.” She grinned over another bite of bagel. “I could use the help, if you’ve got the time between schemes of universal financial domination.”
“I’ll work it in. Now.” He brushed a crumb away from the side of her mouth, kissed her. “Go protect and serve.”
“Good idea. Peabody,” she said as she headed out, “with me.”
“I haven’t really started on-”
“The civilian’s got it. Let’s go take a few kicks at the grieving widow.”
“That’s lots more fun.” Peabody jumped up, grabbed her garment bag. And because Eve was already out of earshot, turned back as Roarke came out of the kitchen. “Do you like the earrings?”
He stepped closer to give them a good study. “They’re charming.”
“But in a-”
“In a professional and intuitive police detective sort of way. You’ll be wonderful and look the same.”
“Thanks.” She grabbed her coat, scarf, hat. “I-”
“Peabody! Move your damn ass!”
“Gotta go,” Peabody finished on the heels of Eve’s shout. And fled.
With his fresh cup of coffee, Roarke sat behind Eve’s desk. He could spare twenty minutes now, he mused. “So, let’s see what we have here.”
6
AN ELEGANT, OLD, LOVINGLY RESTORED BUILDING on the Upper East Side housed the Plowder’s apartment. The quiet, rosy brick boasted a portico entrance with wide, beveled glass doors granting passersby a peek at the polished marble lobby. A doorman, in blue and silver livery, stood guard should any of those passersby need a little move-along.
Eve noted he gave her police issue the beady eye when she pulled up to park at the carpeted curb. She didn’t mind a bit. She didn’t just eat bagels for breakfast, but enjoyed a good bite of doorman.
He strode across the swatch of red carpet, shook his head.
“Cop rides never get any prettier,” he commented. “What house are you out of?”
She shifted her feet, and her prepared tone. “You on the job?”
“Was. Put in my papers after I did my thirty. My brother-in-law manages the place.” He jerked his head toward the entrance. “Tried golf, tried fishing, tried driving the wife crazy.” He flashed a smile. “Better pay, better hours on this door than doing the security guard thing. Dallas,” he said, shooting a finger at her. “Lieutenant Eve.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“Shoulda made you sooner. Getting rusty, I guess. I didn’t hear about anybody getting murdered inside.”
“Not yet.” They exchanged quick cop grins. “Your tenants the Plowders have a guest I need to speak with. Ava Anders.”
“Hmm. Husband got dead yesterday. Didn’t know she was upstairs. She must’ve come in after I went off. She and the dead husband came around now and then. Her more than him, but he was friendlier.”
“Was Mrs. Anders unfriendly?”
“No. Just one of the type who don’t notice who opens the door for her ’cause she expects somebody to. On the snooty side, but not bitchy or anything. Him, he’d usually stop a minute going in or out, have a word, maybe ask if you caught the game-whatever the game was. Sorry to hear he got dead. I gotta call up. Worth my job if I don’t.”
“That’s no problem. What was your house?” Eve asked as they moved to the doors.
“Did my last ten at the one-two-eight. Cold Case Unit.”
“That’s a tough hitch. The cold ones can haunt you.”
“Yeah, they can.” He pulled off his glove to offer a hand. “Frank O’Malley, formerly Detective.”
“Nice to meet you, Detective.”
“Peabody, Detective Delia,” Peabody said when they shook. “I knew a uniform in the one-two-eight back when I was on patrol. Hannison?”
“Sure, I knew Hannison. He’s all right.”
Inside the lobby with its subtly fragrant air, Frank turned to an intercom screen. “Plowder penthouse,” he ordered, then waited until the screen shifted from waiting blue and the image of a woman with short brown hair swam on. “Morning, Agnes.”
“Frank.”
“I got a Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody in the lobby. They’d like to speak to Mrs. Anders.”
“I see. Hold a moment, Frank.”
“That was Mrs. Plowder’s personal assistant, Agnes Morelli. She’s okay.”
“How about the Plowders?”
“Seem like solid types to me. Not on the snooty side. Call you by name, ask after the family they got time for it. Don’t skimp on the tips.”
A moment later, Agnes flowed back on screen. “You can send them right up, Frank, lower parlor entrance.”
“Will do. Thanks, Agnes. First elevator,” he told Eve. “Thirty-nine East. That’ll take you straight to the lower parlor. It’s a hell of a space they got up there. Three floors, river view.”
“Appreciate the help, Detective.”
Inside the elevator, the hammered silver walls boasted a long, built-in bench, in case your legs got tired of riding up, or down. Since the trip took under thirty seconds, Eve couldn’t imagine the bench got much use.
The doors opened straight onto a wide room in pale and pretty colors, opening to a spectacular river view through a wall of glass doors and windows. Agnes stood, in a severe black suit given unexpected charm by the full-blown red rose on the lapel.
“Good morning, I’m Agnes, Mrs. Plowder’s PA. If you wouldn’t mind showing me some identification. We trust Frank, of course, but-”
“No problem.” Eve took out her badge, as did Peabody.
“Thank you. Please come in, have a seat. Mrs. Anders will be right down. Can I offer you some refreshment? Coffee?”
It was knee-jerk for Eve to refuse, but she decided coffee in the parlor could lend a tone of female intimacy that might be helpful. “Coffee’d be great. Black for me, coffee regular for my partner.”
“Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll just be a minute.”
The minute they were alone, Peabody let her eyes pop wide. “Can I just say: Woot, some digs. They’ve got a terrace out there bigger than my entire apartment.”
“I bet your apartment’s a lot warmer than that terrace right now.”
“Yeah, there’s that.” But unable to resist, Peabody started across the parlor to the glass. “It’s the kind of place that makes you feel you need to glide. I don’t glide very well. It must relate to my center of gravity, which would be my ass.”