Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(12)

“For six grand they ought to be gold-plated,” she muttered.

“Far too heavy,” he said easily. “And you’d surely end up with blisters. Here we are.”

She dropped the argument she wouldn’t win—for now anyway—and studied the stone building with its curvy concrete trim. Three stories, long, narrow windows, ornately studded double doors of dark, aged wood.

“How old do you figure?”

“Late nineteeth century. It was a residence, then a bank. It survived the Urban Wars intact, and morphed into a high-fashion boutique for a time, but the owners failed to maintain it.”

“It’s yours?’

“It was. I sold it a few years ago.”

“You sold it to Bellami?”

“More accurately my representatives sold it to his representatives, and now it’s a residence again. One that appears well tended. I find that satisfying.”

“I bet you made a tidy profit, too.”

The smile he pulled out for her equaled pure sin. “Darling, how else could I afford to keep my wife in six-thousand-dollar boots?”

“You’re a real funny guy.”

“I live for your laughter.” With her hand still in his, he tugged her up the trio of stairs to the double doors.

Top-of-the-line security, she noted, including full-sweep cams.

At the press of a buzzer, the computer-generated voice answered.

Good evening. How may I assist you?

“Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge. “And Roarke, expert consultant, civilian. I need to speak with Fabio Bellami.”

One moment, please, while I verify your identification …

Your identification has been verified. Please produce identification for Roarke, expert consultant, civilian.

“Thorough,” Eve commented, smirking a little when Roarke took out his ID.

Thank you. Please wait while Mr. Bellami is notified.

“When’s the last time you spoke with Bellami?” Eve asked.

“A year, or more. I know more of him than know him.”

The right side of the doors opened. The woman wore slim black pants and a sweater. Her pale blond hair, drawn back in a smooth tail, left her quietly pretty face unframed.

“Please come in.” Her voice carried the faintest accent. Maybe Scandinavian, Eve thought. “Mr. and Mrs. Bellami are in the living room. May I take your coats?”

“No, thanks.” Eve scanned the entrance. Lofty ceilings with fancy exposed beams and a tiered chandelier that mated rust-colored iron with sparkling crystal. Some art—dreamy landscapes—a couple of chairs that looked old and were painted a bold red, a cream-colored table holding a trio of vases, in varying heights where rainbows of flowers spilled.

It said rich, classy, and secure.

They walked over a floor of gold-toned wood through a wide brick archway.

Bellami rose from his seat on a high-backed love seat of shimmery blue. He wore, Eve noted, the same suit and tie as he had in Du Vin.

“Roarke. A pleasure, and a surprise.”

A surprise, Eve judged as he crossed over to shake Roarke’s hand. But the anxiety in his eyes didn’t denote pleasure. “And Lieutenant. It’s lovely to meet you. DeAnna, Eve Dallas and Roarke. My wife, DeAnna.”

When she started to level herself off the love seat—and to Eve’s eye she’d need a pulley and tackle, as she was hugely, amazingly pregnant—Bellami jabbed a finger at her.

“You sit.”

DeAnna laughed, deep brown eyes sparkling with humor in a face, Eve decided, that owed some of its current roundness to the same reason her belly humped out in a considerable mountain.

“I will, as it would probably take me ten minutes to get up on my own. Please sit down. Fabio, get our guests a drink.”

“That’s all right,” Eve began, but she caught something in Bellami’s eyes. What might have been a plea. “Actually, coffee would be great.”

“I’ll take care of that.”

DeAnna beamed at the blonde. “Thanks, Lanie. I can sit here with my weak tea and be jealous.”

“When are you due?” Roarke said conversationally as he nudged Eve into a chair.

“March twenty-first.”

At Eve’s expression—it had to be shocked—DeAnna laughed again. The sound managed to be full-throated and musical at the same time. “But we’re told to be ready in a couple of weeks. We’ve having triplets, and they come early. Thank God.”

“There are three in there?” Eve heard herself say, then immediately apologized. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. Fabio and I had the same reaction when we found out. And all girls. Poor Fabio. He’ll be surrounded.”

“I can’t wait.”

He looked as if he meant it, Eve mused.

“We have a mutual acquaintance,” DeAnna said to Eve. “Well, more than an acquaintance for you, as I understand you’re very good friends. Mavis Freestone.”

“You know Mavis?”

“I do. Before this…” She circled her hands on her stupendous belly. “She and I performed together at a fund-raiser. She’s marvelous. Unique and marvelous.”

“She’s all that.”

Something—somethings—moved inside DeAnna’s belly—visibly. Uneasy with that, Eve concentrated on her face. Shadows of fatigue under those dark eyes, and a pallor under the olive skin.