Connections in Death (In Death #48)(64)

“I’ll know when I find it. If Ms. Vinn’s sleeping in the room she shared with Cohen, I’m going to have to disturb her.”

“Well, shit.”

“Can I have your name?”

“Me? The real’s Lisa Killagrew. Onstage I’m Tequila.”

“Ms. Killagrew, if you could inform Ms. Vinn I’m here, with a duly authorized search warrant, we could get this done as quickly as possible.”

“Should she, like, pull in her lawyer?”

“Has she hired an attorney?”

“Yeah, she hired Pete. He’s a lawyer. He hired us a couple years ago for a private—his brother’s stag party. He said she oughta—I’m probably not supposed to tell you what he said she oughta.”

“Leese, who are you talking to?”

Eldena appeared at the top of the stairs looking impossibly young and pale in a little black nightie—sheer as air, with three red hearts strategically placed.

To add a touch of mystery? Eve wondered

Staring at Eve, Eldena let out a gasp that ended on a choked sob.

“Oh God, are you here to arrest me?”

“No. I’m not—”

Bursting into tears, Eldena dropped down to sit on the steps. “I’m sorry. I’m a wreck.”

“Now, you stop that crying.” Lisa used a stern mother’s tone Eve admired, and had Eldena sucking up the sobs. “Didn’t Pete tell you everything was going to be all right?”

“I just feel so stupid.”

“Then don’t be stupid. You need coffee, that’s what. Christ knows, I do. You want?” she began, turning to Eve, then shot a finger in the air. “Shit, Dallas.”

Eve felt her stomach sink.

“El told me and all that, but my brain’s not working all the way yet. Me and El went to a matinee to see the vid. I like how you kick ass. I’m going for coffee. El, remember what we said last night?”

Eldena gave a firm nod, even if she did sniffle with it. “Tough, strong, mean. It was easier with the wine,” she said with a half-smile as Lisa walked up to her.

“You don’t wanna get walked over, don’t be a doormat.” After a pat on Eldena’s shoulder, Lisa continued upstairs.

“I asked Lisa to come over. We were supposed to work last night, but she said we’d take a mental health break, and we drank a lot. Before that, I made Sam leave. I said he had to go somewhere else last night so I could think. We had a big fight about it, but I made him leave. Later, Pete—he’s a lawyer—he said that was good because possession is nine-tenth and all that. And how I should have the locks changed.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Eldena rose, scrubbed her face with her hands as she walked down to Eve. “I’ve got a locksmith guy coming this morning. Sam, he tagged me and said how he’d been arrested, and I had to help. How he’d need me to post bail, and . . . I told him to suck it.”

“Wise words.”

“I was so mad, and I’d had wine, and Leese was here helping me stay mad. Should I contact Pete? It’s really early.”

“You can do that. I’m going to tell you . . .” Eve trailed off as the buzzer sounded. “That’s going to be my partner and an e-detective.”

“Oh God.”

“We have a search warrant.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded and went to open the door.

McNab’s eyes popped—Eve gave him credit for keeping his tongue from landing on his airboots.

“This is Detective Peabody and Detective McNab,” Eve said. “Detective McNab will access your electronics. If you have the passcodes, that would save time.”

“I only have my ’link and my PPC—and the separate tablet I use for working on choreography. They’re not passcoded. I—I—I don’t know Sam’s passcodes. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. Detective Peabody, why don’t you go upstairs with Ms. Vinn, get those devices while she gets dressed. She has a friend upstairs getting coffee.”

“Sure. Ms. Vinn?”

“Okay, ah, the tablet’s back in my studio, but the rest is upstairs. I think maybe I should contact Pete, even though it’s early.”

“Go ahead. Detective McNab and I will start down here.”

“All right. Oh, Sam’s office? He locks it. I don’t have the key or the codes or any damn thing.”

“I have a master.” Eve waited until Peabody escorted Eldena upstairs. “If you drool, I won’t wait for Peabody to kick your ass.”

Deliberately, McNab swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. His grin was as bright and shiny as the range of hoops along his earlobe.

“You gotta look. Where do you want me to start?”

“We’ll take the office.” Since Cohen had come from the back, she gestured.

McNab pranced along beside her in his airboots, his knee-length electrified blue coat flapping over his egg-yolk-yellow baggies.

“She-Body caught me up. You figure the guy’s linked to the murders, and right now you’ve got him on fraud and shit.”

“And it’s a lot of shit.” Eve glanced toward the studio—two mirrored walls, a shelf holding bottles of water, a few rolled up towels, and a little table.