Vendetta in Death (In Death #49)(61)

“Really?” Shifting again, Mira blinked. “Yes, a very big deal. She’s brilliant, revered. And she’s quite the activist, too.”

“She knows Peabody’s grandmother, they did the activist thing together.”

Mira let out a light laugh. “That shouldn’t surprise me a bit. Callahan’s also well known for her philanthropy. From what I know of her it’s hard to picture her involved in torture murders.”

“She doesn’t have to be involved, directly. It strikes me that the granddaughter may have picked up some tips over the years. Acting, makeup, wardrobe. Even, what’s it—staging. The whole thing is full of drama, right down to the poems and the name she’s given herself”

“Yes, there’s a flair for the theatrical. Is that how she struck you?”

“No. The opposite. Quiet, unassuming—even, I don’t know, plain. But she overplayed the grief and shock. It just hit wrong. It looked, sounded, genuine, but it hit wrong. It’s all I’ve got,” Eve admitted with a shrug. “She hit me wrong.”

Sitting back again, Mira took a moment to process. “Well, she would be in the age group I’ve profiled. She would have means, and motive, and the privacy. She attended the support group. You have ample reason to consider her a suspect.”

“Right now, she’s prime. But I can’t get a warrant on a hunch.” Eve rose, and as she set the cup aside found herself surprised she’d actually finished the tea. “Thanks for the time.”

“Be careful. She’s vicious,” Mira added. “Once that part of her is unleashed, she’s vicious.”

“Hey, me, too.”

As Eve headed back to Homicide, Darla ran a few errands. With the rain, both she and the day nurse agreed to cancel Grand’s walk. But Darla enjoyed the rain, strolling in it as she stopped in the bakery for Grand’s favorite cannolis, moved on to the market for some fresh fruit.

She’d used the excuse that she needed to get out, to walk, to keep busy to help settle herself over Thaddeus. Both Grand and the nurse, she thought as she examined bunches of the tart green grapes Grand liked, had been so understanding, so sympathetic.

God, she loved that.

She’d seen the hints of pity, too, for a woman discarded and betrayed who still loved, and could grieve for the man who’d hurt her.

She enjoyed the pity quite a lot.

But they’d never understand how true love and deep hate could live in the same heart.

Thaddeus hadn’t known her. After all the years she’d shared her bed, her body, given him her trust and devotion, he hadn’t seen her through the disguise.

He hadn’t known until, in the last moments of his life, as the blood drained from him, she’d taken off the mask. He’d looked so puzzled, she remembered—fondly—staring at her as life poured out of him.

And he’d said her name, finally said her name, Darla, like a question. His last word had been her name.

And that, oh that, had been delicious.

“Excuse me.”

Darla came back to the moment as another woman nudged her impatiently.

“I need to get by.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. My mind wandered.” With an apologetic smile, Darla shifted, chose some grapes, some berries.

When she finished in the market, she stepped back outside. Opened her umbrella, gave it a little twirl.

She felt lighter than air!

She hummed a bit as she walked, as she replayed her scene with the police. Perfect, just perfect, in her recollection. The shock, the grief, the struggle for composure.

So much fun! She hadn’t known how much fun she’d have.

Maybe she’d worried, just for a moment, when she’d realized Grand had come down. But then that had turned out perfectly, too.

To have her sweet grandmother—and the acclaimed Eloise Callahan—vouch for her, essentially relate the same story, the same timeline.

And how smart had it been to run up to check on Grand when Thaddeus passed out. The police could hardly suspect her of killing anyone when she had her much-loved grandmother to tend to.

She had to admit it was fun to match wits with Eve Dallas. It felt as if they were characters—the leads—in a vid. Only she was directing it, too. And writing it. She’d designed the costumes (at least her own).

And she already had the next act written.

Walking home in the rain with her market bag, her bakery box, she smiled, even did a little dance inside her head.

All those years, she thought, all those years with Thaddeus, she’d been so devoted, so faithful.

So weak.

She’d created a company—herself! Used her brain, her skills, her energy to make it into something solid. Not earthshaking, but solid and respectable.

She’d done that.

And she’d let him take it from her, just as he’d taken her self-respect. At least she’d learned from the group that she wasn’t alone. In fact, she wasn’t nearly the worst case. So many women used, abused, betrayed.

They had a champion in her now. She’d given them Lady Justice.

She swiped into the house, put her umbrella in the stand, her jacket in the closet.

After carrying the marketing to the kitchen, she ordered the droid to make tea while she herself arranged the fruit, the pastries on pretty plates.

A treat for Grand.