Indulgence in Death (In Death #31)(96)

She stepped out into another, smaller living space, then turned into an office. It reminded Eve of Mira’s. Not in the decor, she realized, but in that it struck her as feminine, pretty, and efficient all at once.

“I can put those e-mails on disc for you, unless you’d prefer a hard copy.”

“Both wouldn’t hurt.”

“All right.” She sat, engaged the computer. When she’d finished, she handed Eve a thin paper file, and a disc in a case.

“I’d like to scan some of the other correspondence, some of the files.”

“I feel like I have to say this business runs on privacy and discretion. But I’m not in the mood to care about that right now. And I know Adrianne would be pissed off by what happened—that sounded stupid.”

“No, it didn’t. It sounded accurate.”

Wallace managed a weak laugh. “She’d also want you to have whatever tools you needed to do your job. I’d like you to tell me if you make copies or transfer any files.”

“No problem.”

“If you don’t need me to stay, I could really use a few minutes.”

“Go ahead. Ms. Wallace?” Eve added as she started out. “It strikes me Ms. Jonas had good judgment in friends.”

“That was a kind thing to say,” Roarke murmured.

“I’m not feeling very kind. Adrianne isn’t the only one pissed off right now. I told you I could handle this.”

“Do I interpret that as you’re pissed off at me?”

“Not especially.” Eve sighed. “A little, but mostly because you’re here and I could punch you if I needed to.”

“If I hadn’t come, you wouldn’t be pissed off at me, but then I wouldn’t be here to punch.”

“Don’t try to logic me right now. They had a really big night, splashy party, with their private entertainment on the side. Figured on using that party, and each other, for alibis—with the bonus of having a lure for Jonas. One slips out, skewers the chef, then later, the other slips out, hangs the facilitator. And they cover each other.

“You didn’t tell me you owned the building.”

“The majority share, but that wasn’t on my mind when you gave me the address. I knew her a little. Adrianne.”

“Were you a client?”

“No.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, wandered the room. “I can facilitate for myself. And if I don’t have the time, or don’t want to spend the time, I have Caro and Summerset. But she had a sterling rep.”

He touched the frame of a photo where both Adrianne and Wallace smiled, arms around each other’s waist.

“A lovely woman with a lot of style and charm,” he added, “and a talent for fluid thinking. I do know several people who were clients, and worked with her, or with her through Bonita—Wallace,” he added at Eve’s blank look. “How did they get her into the park?”

She ran it by him as she scanned the hard copy of the e-mails.

“This guy, Wasinski, won’t know squat about this. I’ll have to check him out, but he’s the same as the others. Just the dupe—the difference being unlike the others he knew the vic.”

“Adding more connections,” Roarke said.

“Yeah, upping the stakes every time now. Look here, right in his e-mail to her it asks her not to contact him via ’link as he’s in meetings most of the day. Not to leave voice mail, as he wants this to be a surprise and his wife might check his messages, blah blah. Just to use this e-mail account he’s set up—not his regular account—to keep it on the down-low until they check it all out.”

“And she didn’t question it.”

“He’s a client, one she’s known awhile. He uses his daughter’s name, his wife’s name, works in just enough personal stuff. He even mentions he knows she’s been invited to Dudley’s garden party. Why would she question it? It’s probably not the weirdest request she ever got.”

Eve sat on the desk, began to scroll through the most recent correspondence. “Since you’re here and I’m not punching you, maybe you could check out the desk ’link.”

“I’ll do that, on one condition. You stop blaming yourself, right here, right now.”

“I’m not doing that. Exactly.”

She looked at the photo, and noted she’d been right. Adrianne Jonas had been a very pretty woman in life.

“I feel like I’m lagging behind in this contest, and because I am two people are dead. But I also know the contest is rigged. It’s set up so I can’t know who’s a target, and so I have to spend time checking out their dupes and alibis.”

“Why spend the time when you know they’re dupes, and you know the alibis are bollocks?”

“Because I can’t play by their rules. I have to show a judge, and eventually a judge and jury, that I investigated and verified and eliminated. That I compiled the evidence. Maybe this Darrin Wasinski got a wild hair, was carrying on an affair, or wanted to, with the vic. Maybe he decided to try to do a copycat and killed her because she wouldn’t run off to Mozambique, or because she threatened to tell his wife they did the dirty in Mozambique when he was supposed to be in Albuquerque on business.”

“None of which you believe for an instant.”