Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(72)

“I got two for one.” She smiled, moving in to kiss Roarke. “I’m glad I can show off more of what I’ve done with the apartment.”

“The entrance is lovely,” Roarke said, studying the colorful bottles in wall niches, the flowering plants, the matching love seats.

“I love living here more every day.” Ignoring Eve, Nadine took Roarke’s hand, drew him into the living area. “I’m still finding pieces—that’s half the fun—but it’s already home.”

“Eve’s right. It suits you.”

Bold colors, strong art, a zillion—to Eve’s eye—fancy pillows bunched together over sofas in what was probably an artistic way.

“What is that?” Eve pointed.

“It’s a table. It’s a dragon table. A blue glass dragon. I don’t know why I fell in love with it, but I did.”

“It’s charming.” Roarke crossed to it, admired the sinuous body, the gleaming shades of blue. “Daum?”

“Yes!”

“If you think it’s dumb, why did you buy it?”

“Daum,” Roarke corrected Eve with a laugh. “Gorgeous craftmanship.”

“I’m enjoying finding interesting art and furnishings. I never knew I’d enjoy it as much as I do. And still, it’s really all about that.”

She gestured to the window of glass, and the city lights glittering behind it.

That, at least, Eve could appreciate. When she had the time.

“I’ve got a seven o’clock uptown, so give me what you’ve got.”

“Then you’ve got time for a glass of wine while I do.”

“I’m on duty.”

“I’m not,” Roarke put in, “and I’d love one.”

“Have a seat. One minute.”

She moved off. Eve remembered the dining room—huge red table. And the kitchen—sleek and loaded.

Roarke sat; Eve paced.

“She’ll have a party soon, I imagine,” he commented. “Now that I’ve seen how she’s filling out her space, I’ve an idea where to find her housewarming gift.”

The thought of another party, another gift had Eve casting her eyes to the ceiling. It never, just never, ended.

Nadine came back with a tray holding two glasses of wine. Since a big mug of coffee stood with them, Eve couldn’t bitch.

Roarke clinked his glass to Nadine’s, said something in Irish.

“I take it that’s a good thing?”

“Loosely, ‘welcome home.’”

“Thanks.” Nadine sat, sipped. “My second glass. It was a long one. I had to spend a lot of time in studio and on screen, talking about Larinda, the investigation, you,” she added, lifting her glass toward Eve. “And participate in some sorrowful panel discussions about her. But I put my best team on the research, dug into it myself when I could.”

“And?”

“Her background, which you’ve already looked at. How she came to New York as an eager young reporter straight out of college in the Midwest, landed a job as a gofer, an intern at Behind the Stars, worked her way up to field assignments, then moved to Seventy-Five with screen time and eventually her own show.”

“It’s going to be bogus,” Eve said, “at least until the New York section.”

“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. The college records all check out. But absolutely no one remembers her. Not one student or teacher or administrator we were able to track down and speak with has any memory. Some of them made things up—vague things, and clearly fabricated to get some screen time of their own. I knew something was tilted there.”

Nadine shook her head, sipped more wine. “But she did her job, I did mine. Her data claims she and her parents, who died tragically when she was eighteen, moved around a lot. And still, no one remembers her or them. Not clearly. But mostly, it’s all too perfect.”

“Exactly,” Eve agreed. “Nomadic childhood, death of parents just when she came of age, exceptional student—homeschooled until college. No siblings, no family ties whatsoever. An absolutely perfect and pristine record. No medical issues on record, no criminal or legal issues prior to New York—and she’s been sued several times since. No cohabs, no connections. Just a girl, pure and clean, coming to New York from college, where she graduated in the top ten percent of her class.”

“That no one remembers.”

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet,” Eve said. “So thanks. It saves me a few hours tonight. But mostly that’s not much new.”

“Try this.” Nadine leaned back, crossed her legs. “I’ve got you one more of Larinda’s marks.”

“Name?”

“Phoebe Michaelson.”

Not on Feeney’s list, Eve thought as she ran through it in her mind. “She’s a celebrity?”

“Not hardly. She’s an assistant to Larinda’s assistant.”

“Family money?”

“No.”

“Access to information then.”

“Bingo. Let me explain. I huddled my team together, told them the work was on the down low, gave them bare bones. One of them came to me privately. She told me she’d seen Phoebe with Larinda a couple of times, at a local bar. Huddled together, Phoebe close to tears. And she walked in the ladies’ room once as Larinda streamed out. Phoebe’s still inside, crying in a stall. She couldn’t get anything out of Phoebe but was smart enough, curious enough to keep her eyes and ears open. Mostly she figured they were having an affair, but it didn’t play that way. She’d see Phoebe slipping into Larinda’s office after hours. And the kicker is: Phoebe was promoted out of IT. She’s an e-geek.”