Faithless in Death (In Death, #52)(8)

“She had to know cops would come,” Peabody concurred.

“Unless she’s an idiot, yeah. Pulls in the fiancé for a little support, maybe runs the story by him. So far, she’s not making my wit-of-the-week list.”

“The desk said they cleared the fiancé up, so he doesn’t live with her.”

“She goes all the way downtown, and early, stops for coffee and muffins for two. Why?”

“The text said a sitting.”

“Yeah—no names on the texts, either, no chatty details. So, she heads downtown very early in the morning. Either the door to the vic’s place wasn’t secured or Huffman has access. If she has access, why? Goes in, goes up, drops the takeout, and doesn’t just leave, she comes all the way back here before she calls it in.

“Why?”

Eve stepped out into a wide hallway with silver carpet. “Let’s see how she answers.”

Apartment 4800 boasted double doors, a palm plate, security cam, and double police locks. Eve pressed the buzzer.

The resident is not receiving visitors at this time, the computer began, please— “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD.” She held up her badge for the scanner.

After a brief hesitation, a scan, the computer advised, Please wait.

A moment later, the right door opened. She judged the man to be in his mid-thirties, with the sun-streaked blond hair, golden tan, and rugged good looks that said he liked to spend his free time hiking or sailing or playing tennis or some other outdoorsy thing.

At the moment he wore a three-piece navy pin-striped suit and a perfectly knotted gray-and-navy tie.

“Lieutenant, Detective.” He nodded briefly, his eyes—nearly the same color as his suit—sober. “Please come in. I’m Merit Caine, Ms. Huffman’s fiancé.”

He led them through a small foyer flanked by potted trees with little oranges hanging from the branches, and into a wide living area.

If the lobby struck Eve as obsessive elegance, this struck her as studied elegance.

Everything perfect and perfectly matched, she thought. The soft colors and gentle curves of the furnishings, the huge antique rug—perfectly faded—the quiet art, all landscapes or still lifes interspersed with mirrors of varying shapes, the scent of roses and lilies in crystal vases, and the perfection of the view of the river outside the wall of glass. The generous terrace offered a little outdoor living with its glass table, cushy chairs, and potted flowers.

It all suited the woman curled in the corner of the pale blue sofa. Eve judged her a solid decade younger than the fiancé. Young enough, she thought, to do without facial enhancement—or expert enough with them to make it appear she had.

She’d pulled her blond hair back in a tail so her classic oval of a face was unframed. Her eyes—a soft blue like the sofa—showed signs of weeping. Delicately.

She wore white pants in a fluid material, and a flowing white shirt. Everything about her read fragile.

The two uniforms rose from their chairs. Each had coffee, but set the cups down.

“Detective, take the officers to the foyer, get their reports. We’ve got this from here,” she said to them. “Ms. Huffman, I’m Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered. “Merit and I saw the vid. The Icove Agenda. I can’t believe this is happening.” She reached out for Merit’s hand. “I—I told the officers, was telling them what happened. Except I don’t know what happened. I just don’t know.”

“It’s all right, Gwen.” Merit sat beside her, kept her hand in his. Her left one boasted a chunky square-cut diamond. “It’s going to be all right.”

Ruggedly Handsome, meet Delicate Beauty, Eve thought. A perfect match.

He looked back at Eve. “Please sit, Lieutenant. Can we offer you something?”

“Just answers,” she said, and sat.

“Before you start, I’m also Gwen’s legal representative.”

“You’re a lawyer, Mr. Caine?”

“Yes, with Caine, Boswell, and Caine. While Gwen wants to help your investigation in any way she can, you understand she’s had a shock.”

“What kind of a shock have you had, Ms. Huffman?”

“I—well—I—I found Ariel. She was …” Gwen turned her face into Merit’s shoulder. “So much blood.”

“You were in her apartment?”

“Yes. This morning.”

“What time?”

“Early. I’m not sure, but it had to be about seven-thirty. A little before? I’m not sure.”

“How did you get into the apartment?”

Gwen turned her face back toward Eve, but left her head on Merit’s shoulder. “The door was open a little. I could hear the music—she likes music on when she works—so I just went inside. I called up to let her know, then I started to go up to her studio. I’d brought coffee and muffins from this place she likes. I was telling her that. ‘I’ve got lattes and cranberry muffins.’ I think I said something about being a little early, maybe how she shouldn’t leave her door unlatched.

“Then when I went up … I saw her. On the floor, and all the blood. I saw her face, her eyes. I think I screamed. I don’t know. I couldn’t breathe, I felt sick and dizzy and terrified. I ran out. Oh, Merit, I shouldn’t have run away like that.”