City of the Dead (Alex Delaware, #37)(23)

“Police, ma’am.” He held up his card.

“About what?”

“Are you Ms. Blanding?”

“Why do you ask?”

“If you are, we’re here about your daughter, Cordelia Gannett.”

The door opened on Renata Blanding, barefoot, now crowned by a hennaed pageboy and wearing a black Chanel T-shirt over gold jeggings.

“What’s she gotten into now?”

Bare interest in pale-blue eyes. Her skin was lightly freckled and stretched tight over a handsome framework. The same muscular shoulders and spare build as in the fundraiser photo. Slightly oversized hands. Diamond hoop earrings dangled from close-set ears. A big, square solitaire diamond graced the left ring finger; on the matching right finger, a pink-and-white diamond band.

Milo said, “May we come in, Ms. Blanding?”

“Is that nece— I guess. Okay.”

She stepped aside and closed the door after us. The house was neat, airy, brightened by a rear wall of French doors looking out to a yard dominated by a too-wide swimming pool. Three-step entry hall, three additional steps down to the living room. The room bore a faint smell of fruit—strawberries and citrus. Through the doorway to the kitchen, a blender sat on a counter. Someone fiddled there, unseen.

Renata Blanding folded her arms across her chest. “Now you’re inside. What?”

Milo said, “It’s best we sit down, ma’am.”

Sculpted eyebrows climbed. “That bad? Last time I hung with the cops, it cost me big.”

He pointed to a nearby sofa. Taupe ultra-suede, pale-blue pillows perfectly fluffed and arranged precisely.

An almost assertive neatness. Like mother like daughter?

Renata Blanding worked at remaining impassive but the blue eyes sparked and her jawline quivered.

“What?” she demanded.

Milo said, “Please, ma’am,” and guided her to the couch. She sat on the rim, still cross-armed.

There’s no way to do it but to do it.

Milo said, “I’m afraid, ma’am, that Cordelia is deceased.”

“Impossible,” said Renata Blanding. “Absolutely impossible.”

Milo said nothing.

“Impossible,” she repeated. “Fucking impossible.”

She sat up higher, squeezed herself tighter. Stared at Milo with the pathetic defiance of a two-year-old. Then at me. Then back to Milo. “Impossible.”

He said, “I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“No way.”

Milo sighed.

Renata Blanding shook her head back and forth. Three more “impossibles” surrendered to an anguished “Oh my God!”

A dozen more of those. The oversized hands came loose and clawed air.

“Oh my God. Impossible. Oh my God.”

She covered her face, had hunched forward just as a young woman appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Tiny, Asian, wearing a black-and-white uniform.

Seeing her employer’s posture made her mouth drop open. “Everything okay, Mrs. B?”

A muffled “Yes.” Renata sat back up. At full volume: “No, Lynn, it’s not okay. Finish up with the dishes.”

Milo said, “Please bring Mrs. B some water.”

“I don’t like flat water,” said Renata Blanding. “Don’t care where it comes from, it always tastes off. I need aeration. Bring me a La Croix, Lynn. The yellow can. Pamplemousse. Remember what I told you? That means grapefruit. Not lime.”

“Yes, Mrs.—”

“Go!”

Lynn ran off.

Renata Blanding said, “She’s from Laos. She’s usually very good. But things can throw her, sometimes I think I’m raising another daught…” Her face contorted in horror. “Another. There’s no another anymore.”





CHAPTER


    13


The maid brought aerated water in a squat crystal glass. Inside was a massive round ice cube.

“The big one,” said Renata. “You remembered. Good, Lynn. Thank you. Sorry for snapping.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. B.”

“Nothing today is okay, Lynn.” Dismissive finger wave. “Finish the dishes then…just do what you want, Lynn. I need to talk to these men.”

When the three of us were alone, Milo gave her the card he’d held to the peephole.

Renata said, “Homicide. You’re telling me she was murdered.”

Milo said, “Yes, ma’am.”

“For the record,” she said, “her name is Carol, not Cordelia…” Glance at the card. “…Lieutenant Sturgis. She grew up as Carrie. I birthed her and that’s the nickname I chose to give her and I still think it’s an awesome one and there was no reason to change it. She never did it legally, anyway. She’s Carrie.”

“Thanks for telling us, ma’am.”

Renata Blanding’s hands re-formed into avian claws. Attack mode but nothing to attack. She rested them in her lap, curling her fingers oddly. “Now you’re telling me she was murdered.”

“Unfortunately, ma’am.”

“Where did it happen?”

“In her home.”

“Where’s that?”