Festive in Death (18 page)

“Huh” was the best Eve could think of.

“You know: Roarke. The abso-ult rich guy. And completely iced. He actually owns this building. I would
die
to meet him, wouldn’t you?”

“Well.” She decided it was best not to mention she’d just recently banged said abso-ult iced Roarke into a mutual puddle.

“Hey, sorry! You maybe want some coffee? I have a stash of real. Police probably don’t get real very much. I have a friend whose brother is a policeman back in Shipshewana. He’s a sweetheart, but they sure don’t make much money.”

“What ship?”

“Shipshewana,” Felicity said with a bubbly giggle. “Indiana. That’s where I’m from, but I’ve been in New York almost a whole year now. I just got up, so I could sure use some coffee. I’ll get us some, okay?”

“Great.”

It gave Eve a chance to think. She watched Felicity walk away—who knew an ass could move in so many directions—then took stock.

As love nests went, Eve considered it upscale. A good-sized living area with a stellar view of the river through a wall of glass. The holiday tree stood front and center, rising from floor to ceiling, topped by a white angel and covered with red and gold balls.

She suspected Copley had let Felicity have her way with the decor as it ran to bright and fussy, feathers and beads. Like a cheerful bordello, Eve decided, all plush and girlie.

She wandered, noted the dining alcove—large enough for dinner parties with a red lacquer table holding a center Santa easily three feet tall.

She moved quietly, took a quick scan of a powder room—red accents, fussy soaps, frilly towels—a room with a ballet bar, a keyboard, a wall screen, rolled yoga mats, a glass-fronted friggie stocked with bottled water. One wall held a screen, another was completely mirrored.

She took a quick glance in the master bedroom—golds and reds, more feathers and beads, a huge mirrored bed, a bureau topped with a half dozen fancy perfume bottles, a masculine chest of drawers. A chaise piled with stuffed animals and dolls.

Gauging the time, Eve slipped back into the living area just before Felicity came out carrying a red tray holding two flowery cups with a matching creamer and sugar bowl.

“I didn’t ask how you take your coffee.”

“Just black’s good.”

“Ugh! I like
lots
of cream and sugar.” She set the tray on a low table, sat. When she leaned over to doctor her coffee—and she did mean “lots”—Eve expected the impressive breasts to tumble right out of the peignoir.

“So.” Felicity sat back, holding her cup with her pinkie curled out. “Are you all ready for Christmas?”

“Pretty much. Listen.” How to begin? With a standard side piece, she’d have known her approach. But bombshell or not, this one was green as grass. “You live here with John Jake Copley?”

“You know JJ!” Delight pinkened her cheeks. “Why didn’t you say so! Isn’t he a dream? He’s the sweetest man, and so good to me. I’m not really supposed to talk about him too much because, well, you know, he has to get his divorce and all.”

“How did you meet him?”

“Oh, he didn’t tell you?”

“We didn’t get into that.”

“It was so cute! I’m a dancer. I’m going to be a triple threat—that’s what my voice coach says. I’m taking lessons, and acting lessons, and more dance lessons. JJ’s paying for all of it. I’m an investment.”

She flushed prettily.

“Anyway, I just couldn’t stay in Shipshewana my whole life, could I?”

Eve got a strange picture of a pirate ship sailing through fields of corn and cows. “I don’t see how.”

“I
know
. Even though I miss everybody like crazy, you have to, you know,
try
to like fulfill your destiny. My theater teacher back home said I had real talent. A natural talent. So I came to New York. I want to work on Broadway, but it’s really hard. They can be so mean at the auditions. And I didn’t have as much money as maybe I should have. Things are really expensive here. I got a job as a waitress, but it gets really confusing. Then I got a dancing job. In one of
those
places, you know.”

She winced a little.

“Yeah, I know.”

“It was embarrassing at first, but like Sadie said, everybody’s got a body, so big deal. And if you have a nice one, you can make some real money. I didn’t like it a whole lot, but I was willing to sacrifice until I got my big break. You’ve got to pay your dues.”

She took a sip of her coffee-flavored cream and sugar.

“So,” Eve speculated, “you met JJ at the place where you danced.”

“Oh yeah, right. One night JJ came in, and he got a lap dance. And then he got another one, and he bought me a drink. He wanted to,
you know, but I don’t do that. I’m not licensed, plus I don’t want to, you know? For like money.”

Eve considered the fancy apartment, the feathery peignoir—reserved judgment. “Okay.”

“So JJ was with some, what do you call it, colleagues, and some of them got a little pushy. But not JJ. Anyway, he came back the next night and bought me another drink, and he was nice to talk to. Then he asked me out.”

She pinked up again. “A real date. Dinner and everything. He took me out a few times—twice to a Broadway show, which was the
ult
. Then we, you know, but it wasn’t like he was a customer. We were dating. I didn’t know he was married, then he told me, and I was going to break it off because, you know, that’s just not right.”

“He didn’t tell you he was married before . . . you know?” Eve qualified.

“No, but he explained how his wife’s so awful, and controlling, and he’s trying to get a divorce, and they don’t even have sex.”

“She doesn’t understand him, appreciate him,” Eve said.

“I know!” Irony wafted over Felicity’s blond curls. “Then he bought this place so I’d have a nice, safe place to live. And he got me the lessons. And I have charge accounts and everything. I just have to be patient. It gets lonely sometimes because he has to travel so much for work, and he’s trying to convince his terrible wife to agree to a civilized divorce. He’s so sweet to me, and after he gets his divorce we’re getting married. See.”

She held out her hand—fingernails painted like her toes—to show off the rock on her ring finger.

Eve thought back to the hidden accounts, calculated what the rock
would go for, if real. No charges or withdrawals corresponding, to her memory.

It struck her Felicity got the clichéd line and the fake diamond, and was naive enough to believe both.

“We’re just crazy about each other. We’d spend every minute we could together if it wasn’t for his awful wife, and if he didn’t have to travel for work, like he is now.”

Eve wondered if they grew them all this naive and gullible in Shipshewana.

“He’s away on business now?” she asked.

“Yeah, he had to leave a couple days ago to give a big presentation way out in New L.A. He’s really important, but you know that, so the client people wanted him especially. But he’s going to be back for Christmas. He maybe has to spend most of it with his wife, because of how people gossip and stuff, but we’re going to have our own Christmas here. Isn’t the tree pretty?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Do you know a Trey Ziegler?”

“Uh-uh. Is he a friend of JJ’s? I haven’t been able to meet his friends because of gossip and how his awful wife would use it to ruin him in the divorce. It’s nice to meet you, so I can have somebody to talk with. Sadie, my friend from where I used to dance, says men never divorce their wives like they say, but JJ’s not like that. We’re crazy about each other.”

“So you haven’t seen JJ for a couple days?”

“Uh-uh. He had to go out of town, like I said, kind of all of a sudden. But he tags me every day, and he sent the flowers over there just yesterday.”

Her extraordinary breasts swelled over the silk and feathers as she sighed.

“He’s such a sweetheart. He’s under a lot of stress what with work
and his wife so we don’t go out so much anymore. He needs the quiet. She’s, what do you call it, vindictive. So I try to be really understanding, and make things nice for him when he’s here.”

“I’m sure you do. When did he leave town?”

“Um. Wednesday maybe. Was it?” She caught her pouty bottom lip between her teeth as she taxed her memory. “I get mixed up. He had to do the party with his wife—you know, for appearances—that night. Did you go?”

“I couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, too bad. I love parties. JJ was going to come over here afterward. And we were going to go have a big, fancy brunch at the caviar place for a treat. I just love caviar, don’t you? But he had to go out of town.”

“And he’s never mentioned Ziegler?”

“I don’t think so. Is he a client? JJ takes really good care of his clients. That’s why he’s so successful.”

“I bet.”

“Do you want to go out for breakfast maybe? My treat. I don’t have dance or acting lessons today, and my voice coach doesn’t come until two.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“Oh, do you have to go already?” Felicity asked when Eve rose.

“I do, but maybe I’ll come back. When JJ’s here.”

“That would be mag! We can have a little party.”

“Why don’t you get in touch with me when you expect him?” Eve pulled out a card. “We’ll have that little party.”

“Sure! This is, well, it’s just magolicious. I can’t wait.”

“Neither can I.” She opened the door, glanced back at the bombshell. “You know, Felicity, your friend Sadie sounds pretty smart.”

“Oh, she’s really smart. She’s a really good friend, but she worries
about me, and doesn’t have to. She thinks I should go back to Shipshewana.”

Eve decided Sadie might be the only person in New York dealing Felicity the truth.

“Have you talked to her recently?”

“I talk to her most every day. JJ doesn’t want her to come here because, well, people don’t always understand about the dancing, but . . . you’ve got to have girlfriends, right?”

“Yeah. What did she say about JJ having to go out of town, all of a sudden?”

“Oh, well, Sadie doesn’t trust most guys. She’s had some bad experiences. She never thinks JJ’s telling me the truth.”

“Like I said, she sounds pretty smart. Maybe you should listen to her. You ought to tag her up. And, Felicity? Maybe you should ask yourself why an important, successful man’s doing out-of-town business over a weekend instead of grabbing a shuttle back to take you out for caviar.”

Leaving it at that—the best she could do—Eve made her way out, nodded to Brent.

She hated feeling sorry for the woman—no, she corrected, girl. No more than a girl really. But it balanced out, she supposed. The sorrier she felt for Felicity, the more contempt she felt for Copley.

First chance, she promised herself, the two of them were going to have a long, fascinating conversation.

And it wasn’t going to be much of a party.

Kira Robbins let Eve in herself. She looked heavy-eyed, strained, and wore baggy flowered pajama pants and a gray NYC sweatshirt. A far cry, Eve thought, from the smart red dress and heels of the day before.

“You want to go over it all again.” She didn’t ask Eve to sit, didn’t offer her a drink, just flopped down on the sofa. “That’s how this works. Just going over and over it again.”

“You said you were alone, no outside contact, during the time Ziegler was murdered.”

“Yeah. Damn book. I haven’t written a word since I talked to you yesterday. I’m not going to make deadline. I just want to sleep, but . . .”

“How many times did Ziegler come here for a private session?”

“Four—no, five. Twice with me and my assistant, three times just me. I think.”

“How much extra did you give him for adding in the assistant?”

“Ah . . . five hundred.” Robbins rubbed the spot between her eyebrows with two fingers. “Yeah, five.”

It jibed with Ziegler’s accounting.

“How many times were you intimate with him?”

“It wasn’t intimacy. There’s nothing intimate about having your choice taken away. He had sex with me—once. He raped me. Once.” Something fired in her eyes. “It wasn’t intimacy.”

“You’re right.”

“You’re wondering—I’m wondering—did I ask for it? Did I open the damn door to it? I had him in here, I paid him to come here. I knew he was a user. I heard the talk, but I kept going to him, I had him come to me.”

“Why?”

“He was a really good trainer.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Oh God. He was tough on me, and charming about it. He helped keep me in shape. Fashion blogger,” she said with a bitter half laugh. “You have to look good. You’re not competing with the people you’re writing about—the stars and butterflies and trust-fund babies—but you absolutely are. I didn’t want to go to a body sculptor—wanted to do it myself. That’s something to feel smug about when you know who’s getting work done, and how often. So I stuck with him. I stuck with Trey.”

She let her head fall back. “So I’m asking myself did I ask for it. When it happened before, I was in love with the bastard. Just a kid, and in love the way you are at sixteen. After, he said I’d wanted it. I’d teased him. So he’d given me a little something to relax me, so he’d held me down when I said no, when I said stop. But I’d wanted it, and if I made a big deal about it, everybody would know I’d asked for it.”

“No one asks to be raped, Kira.”

“No, and I
know
better. I just can’t get to it yet. I thought I could handle Ziegler—no problem. I’m smart, I’m strong, I learned how to take what happened before and get smarter, get stronger. But knowing’s one thing, feeling’s another.”

Her eyes filled; she pressed her fingers to them as if to push the tears back in. “Sorry, rough night.”

“You’d been dosed and raped before, but you didn’t wonder—you didn’t ask yourself—if it had happened again. You just got the urge, had sex with a man you’ve stated you weren’t attracted to, didn’t even really like. And after, didn’t wonder?”

“I never thought of it. It never so much as floated over my head. I’d put it behind me. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was too smart, too strong, too careful. It could never happen to me again.”

She squeezed her eyes tight for a moment, balled her fists until the knuckles whitened. “But it did. It did happen again, and I feel just like that sixteen-year-old girl. Maybe even worse, because I really believed it couldn’t happen again.”

She loosened her hands, took a couple slow, deep breaths. “I didn’t kill him, that’s the best I can give you. I wouldn’t have if I’d known before someone else did. But I wouldn’t have made the same mistake I did at sixteen. I’d have gone straight to the cops. And if some people wanted to think I’d asked for it, fuck them. Fuck them.”

On a half laugh she scrubbed her hands over her face. “Yeah, rough night. But I’ve got an appointment with my therapist in a couple hours.”

“Good. You meant nothing to him.”

“What?”

“Understand that,” Eve said. “You meant nothing. You were just another notch to him, another body, another way for him to feel
important and powerful. You didn’t ask for it, you didn’t open the door to it. You were just another opportunity for him, another income source, and that’s it.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“Up to you, but it’s truth. It’s fact.”

Kira breathed out again. “It’s harsh, and maybe because it’s harsh, it makes me feel better.”

“I appreciate the time.” Eve started for the door, stopped. “I figure you’ll make that deadline.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You won’t let him screw you over again.”

•   •   •

S
he mulled over the conversation, her impressions, what she’d seen, heard and felt on the drive home. All she needed was maybe a half hour more—that wasn’t much—to write it all up, shoot it off to Peabody, Mira.

And, okay, maybe another ten or fifteen to update her board, review the data Peabody would have accumulated by now.

Forty-five minutes, another hour tops, then she’d switch gears, go into full party-prep mode.

It was fair.

Satisfied with the bargain, she drove through the gates. And stopped the car in the middle of the long drive to gape. Appalled.

Trucks and vans and
people
crowded and swarmed at the entrance of the house. Those people carted trees—how could they possibly need more trees—plants, flowers, crates and boxes and God only knew.

She watched as some of the vehicles drove around the sprawling
house to, she assumed, go around the side or the back where undoubtedly they’d unload more trees, plants, flowers, crates and boxes and God only knew.

They comprised an army of workmen, decorators, gofers. And she imagined this first wave didn’t include the second force that would deal with food and beverage.

You didn’t need armies for a party. You needed armies for a war.

Apparently, this was war.

And where the hell was she supposed to dump her car?

Seeing little choice, and hoping to avoid the various battalions for as long as possible, she drove around to the garage.

She sat in the car a moment, drumming her fingers, trying to remember how to gain access. Damn place was as big as a house. Normally she just parked out front. She knew Summerset—in his anal, everything in its stupid proper place way—remoted whatever vehicle she dumped there into the garage, and had it remoted back out front in the morning.

So she didn’t hassle with the garage as a rule. She considered leaving it where it was, but that felt stupid. Instead, she tapped the in-dash, tagged Roarke.

“Lieutenant.”

“Yeah, hey. Thought I should tell you I’m back.”

“And in a timely fashion.”

“Yeah. There’s a bunch of everybody out front. A parking lot of vehicles so I’m going to pull into the garage.”

“Well, all right then.”

“But, the thing is, I can’t remember the code.”

On the dash screen, he smiled at her. “Eve, have you still not read the bloody manual for your vehicle?”

“I find stuff when I need it.”

“In that case, you’ll find you’ve only to access your in-dash comp, request accessories, order the garage doors open by remote. It has your voiceprint. You’d close them the same way, or by the garage comp once you’ve parked.”

“Right. Got it. Thanks.”

“I could point out, that if you’d read the manual, you could have parked out front and sent the car to the garage by remote, but that would be rubbing it in, wouldn’t it?”

Rather than respond, she cut him off, snarled after the screen went blank. “Smart-ass. Computer engage.”

Engaged, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.

“Accessories.”

Accessories confirmed. Would you like a listing by alpha order or by category?

“Just open the damn garage door.”

Do you wish to open the garage door at your current location, which is residence, or an alternate location?

“Why the hell would I want to open a door where I’m not? Never mind. Open the door, current location.”

Garage door, residence. Would you like to open the main door, the rear door, the second level—

“Main door, for God’s sake. Open the main garage door, residence.”

Garage, residence, main door opening.

She waited while it rose, slow and silent, then drove in.

She wouldn’t bother to roll her eyes at the number of vehicles housed inside. Or just a minor eye roll. All-terrains, sedans, sports cars, muscular trucks, sexy motorcycles.

Some flashy, some classy, some sinewy, some sleek.

She was pretty sure there had been some refinements since she’d last been inside—she knew there hadn’t been a slot labeled DLE, the make of her car, the last time she’d been in here. No question there’d been some additions because the man purchased vehicles the way others might buy socks.

She pulled into the slot as the computer asked politely,

Do you wish to close the main garage doors, residence, at this time?

“Yeah, yeah, do that.”

She got out, glanced around at Roarke’s shiny toys, and spotted a pristine work counter—who else had a pristine garage?—with a computer, an AutoChef and a friggie.

“A garage you could live in. Who else?”

Inspired, she crossed to the counter, narrowed her eyes at the computer.

“Computer on.”

It sprang immediately to life.

Good morning, Dallas, Lieutenant, Eve.

“Yeah, yeah. Can you interface with my home office computer?”

Affirmative. Would you like to do so at this time?

“Yeah, I’d like to do so. Open files on Ziegler, Trey, subset Interviews. Create new doc on Prinze, Felicity, crossed with Copley, John Jake.”

Working . . .

“Pull up any incoming communication or data from Peabody, Detective Delia.”

Secondary command in progress. Initial command complete.

“Why doesn’t my office comp work this fast?”

Would you like a scan and diagnosis of this specific computer?

“What’s the point? Negative.”

Acknowledged. Secondary command complete.

“Give me Peabody’s data first. On screen.”

Data on screen.

She’d been right on Felicity’s age. Barely twenty-one. Born Shipshewana, Indiana, one of three offsprings—all female—of Jonas and Zoe Prinze, with Felicity being the youngest. No criminal, not even a
little dent, unless she counted two minor traffic violations during the teenage years.

And she didn’t.

Graduated high school, and Peabody had added the shiny bits. Homecoming queen, captain of the cheerleaders, the lead in the school musical two years running, president of the theater club.

Two years community college, majoring in theater.

Employed, part-time, for three years at Go-Hop as a server.

Relocated to New York, resided for seven months in Alphabet City—a flop, Eve noted, reading Peabody’s research on the address—that rented by the hour, day, or week.

Employed as a dancer, Starshine Club, for three months. Current residence, the big, shiny apartment overlooking the river.

No marriages, no cohabs, no current employment.

A corn-fed, naive kid, potentially with some talent, with big dreams, who got herself scooped up by some guy twice her age. Who was potentially a killer.

Eve added her notes, compiling them into a report.

As she read it over, refined it, the side door opened.

Roarke walked in.

“Did you get lost?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re working in the garage?”

“It was here, and it’s quiet, and I only needed a few minutes.” She glanced at her wrist unit, winced. “Or so.”

She’d refine later, if necessary, but shot the report to Peabody, to Mira, and as an update to her commander.

“That’s it. I’m going in. Why are there more trees?”

“Than what?”

“Than we already had. Guys were hauling in more trees when I drove up. Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas.” He took her hand. “If you need more time, you don’t have to take it in the garage.”

“It’s nice in here. A vehicle palace with technology and snacks. But that’s it for now.”

She could always slip away later, squeeze in a little more.

“All right then. Want a lift back?”

He gestured to a short line of motorized carts.

“I’ve got legs.”

“Which I admire as often as possible.”

Still holding her hand, he led her out the side door. “We’ll stroll back then, and you can tell me about the side piece.”

“She’s pitiful. No, that’s not fair.” She stuck her free hand in her pocket to warm it. “She’s a kid, Roarke, twenty-one and painfully naive. From someplace out in corn land. Shipshewana, Indiana.”

“Shipshewana? Are you winding me up?”

“It’s an actual town, I looked it up. If you consider a place about one square mile a town. Barely six hundred people live there. A lot of them farm. They probably have more cows than people there.”

The thought of which gave her the serious creeps.

“So our young side piece bid farewell to Shipshewana, came to the bright lights, big city, and ended up in a river-view apartment, being kept by a married man.”