Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(43)
“How did she react when you broke the engagement?”
“Since I did that after I informed her I would no longer represent her, I can tell you she reacted strongly. She demanded I reconsider, reminded me of all the plans, the humiliation we’d both suffer. She begged me to say nothing of any of this to anyone, much less her parents. When she saw I was resolute—even immune to her tears—she threatened to tell everyone I’d been abusive. That I’d struck her, forced myself on her.”
Hurt ran across his face as Merit shook his head. “I saw her so clearly then. I don’t know if she realized how clearly I saw her in those moments when she raged at me, promised to ruin me.”
“Did she get physical at that time?”
“No, no, she didn’t. Despite everything, I don’t believe she could kill.” Pausing, he looked down at his hands. “Maybe I have to believe that, but I do believe it.”
“Did her parents, or anyone you met when socializing with them, ever approach you about joining Natural Order?”
“It was suggested that I attend an orientation. I refused. Oliver—her father—was displeased, but only said he hoped I would be more open-minded and embracing in the future. A messenger delivered a package to our offices, containing informational pamphlets, data discs, and so forth. I threw them away.”
“I appreciate your time, your candor.”
“I hope you find who killed Ariel Byrd, and quickly. I’d like to put all of this behind me. This house.” He looked around as they rose. “We were going to live in this house, start our lives together in this house. I guess I’ll sell it.”
“Merit.” Roarke stepped to him. “It’s a beautiful home. Don’t put in on the market while you’re still upset, don’t sell it on impulse. Give yourself a bit of time to decide first.”
“You sound like my family. They said just that. I learned just how much they’d support me—and found out my sister couldn’t stand Gwen.”
“The house looks like you.”
He turned to Eve. “Really?”
“Outside,” she qualified. “It’s none of my business, but if you sell anything, sell all this …” She waved a hand. “Stuff. Because it doesn’t look like you.”
“Sell all this,” he murmured. “I might just do that.”
“Good luck to you, Merit,” Roarke said, and offered his hand. “If you need a drink with a friend, let me know.”
Outside, Eve stood by the car. “She’s beautiful, she’s young, she plays the victim really well. Yeah, I can see how he fell for that. And I’d bet he won’t fall for that kind of bullshit again.
“So. Need a ride, pal?”
Roarke gestured to a dark, sleek sedan pulling up behind her DLE.
“Okay then. See you later.”
Because he wanted it—and why the hell not?—he grabbed her in for a kiss. “Take care of my cop—and let me know if you go to Connecticut.”
“I’ll do both.”
Since she had time before the bank opened, Eve didn’t mind the thicker traffic. And since parking proved impossible, she pulled into a loading zone and flipped up her On Duty light. In the relative quiet of her parked vehicle, she wrote up her notes on the Merit Caine interview.
She’d seen it before, she mused, how people could fall in love with, or in thrall to, an image. And there were plenty out there, like Gwen Huffman, who knew how to project an image.
Merit struck her as too grounded to mourn the loss of that image for long.
But maybe someone else, in love or in thrall, had killed to protect that image.
She got out of the car to join the pedestrian traffic on the block walk to the bank. Nannies or at-home parents taking babies out for a stroll, walking older kids to school—or both. People in business attire heading for the office, already checking ’links. A maxibus disgorged others, primarily working stiffs who trudged the rest of the way to whatever job paid the rent.
Some breezed in and out of delis, coffee shops, bakeries. She smelled yeast and sugar and breakfast burritos.
And there was Peabody, pink coat and boots, a small file bag worn cross-body, improbable—to Eve—red streaks in her hair. She had a take-out coffee in one hand, and scrolled something on her PPC with the other.
Eve would’ve bet a month’s pay it had something to do with home decor.
Since Peabody remained engrossed enough, Eve walked to her, looked at the screen. And mentally awarded herself an extra month’s pay when she saw the image of a home office with walls the color of chili peppers.
“Peabody.”
“What!” She jolted like she’d been stunned on full. “Oh, jeez!”
“I could’ve stabbed you in the heart, snagged that bag, your electronics, your damn service weapon, and strolled away before you hit the ground.”
“I was just looking at ideas for our new home office. We’re going to share one, since we work together a lot anyway, then I can have an actual craft room and—”
She broke off when Eve just pulled open the bank door and walked inside. She badged the security guard. “We need to see the manager, or whoever’s in charge of safe deposit boxes.”
“You’re looking for Ms. Wasser.” Her voice redolent with Queens, the guard pointed. “Past the desk there, first office on the right.”