Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(79)

“Yeah, so…” She let that settle as they stepped out of the elevator, moved outside. Picked it up again as they got into the car. “She believes her parents and her boyfriend don’t know anything about it. But her believing it doesn’t necessarily make it so.”

“Who are you running first?”

“The father. He’d be the most likely. If she gave us a clear picture of him, and it seemed to fit, he’s a protect-the-women sort. And he’s weak.”

“Those factors seem to contradict.”

“Only a man would think that straight off. He’s weak because he continues to take the wife back knowing she’s going to cycle again, put his kids—and it seems clear the younger sister is his kid in everything but, possibly, biology—through upheaval. He wants the wife, and puts that ahead of the welfare of his daughters. That’s weak.”

“It is, isn’t it? Love can make you so.”

With a cynicism Missy Lee would have understood, and respected, Eve shook her head. “He loves an illusion, leans on the illusion instead of shoring up the foundation for his children. To preserve the illusion, to convince himself he has to protect his family, he eliminates a threat.”

“And the weak kill as often as the strong.”

“More. Missy Lee loves him, but doesn’t respect him—he forfeited her respect for the illusion. She doesn’t think he knows, and she may be right, but she believes that first and foremost because she doesn’t respect him. He wouldn’t have to scratch too far under the surface to figure out something was up. Scratch a little deeper, find out what it is.”

“It makes more sense to you that someone connected to one of the marks did the deed than the mark.”

“We don’t know all her marks yet, and there are bound to be some where the money did matter, where the risk of exposure was too much to risk. But the pattern so far? Yeah, a connection strikes me as more likely.”

“And the mother?”

She glanced up, then over at him. “What do you think?”

“I think the mother has connections to dealers, and for some dealers, murder is simply part of business. But the method isn’t business as usual, is it? Setting up a kill in a public place, in a space with only one way in and out isn’t professional.”

Eve gave it a minute. “You’ll be happier if I say you think like a criminal rather than like a cop.”

“There is considerable overlap, after all.”

“Yeah.” She tapped her finger on her knee as he drove through the gates toward home. “And she’s an addict, one who slides back into that behavior. Most likely if she’d gotten wind of this, she’d have grabbed for her drug of choice. I’m going to look at her, but the father’s more probable. Then there’s the boyfriend.”

“Seriously?”

“She, by her own statement, lives with him half the time. She works with him. He may know a lot more than she thinks. But.”

“But,” Roarke agreed as he stopped in front of the house. “The young and in love, or at least in cheerful lust, would most likely want to talk about it. He’d have told her he found out, and if she told us the truth as she knows it, she’d have told us that as well, and wouldn’t have asked him to leave.”

“That’s how I see it.” She got out, gathered her file bag. “I’ll look at him, too, but he’s low on my current list. I’ve got others ahead of him.”

“Let’s take a bit of time.” He slid an arm around her as they walked to the door. “Have a meal before you dive straight into it. You can tell me about those others.”

Summerset and Galahad waited, the long and the bony, the short and the chubby. It struck her that for all the flaws and faults she could pin on Summerset—don’t get her started—he and the cat were, and always had been, completely in tune.

“You made it home before the storm.”

The words stopped Eve cold. One day left—because today and departure day didn’t count—until she had a Summerset-free house for three glorious weeks.

“What storm?”

“The one currently sweeping down from New England.” His face cracked into what might have been a smile as Galahad busied himself rubbing his pudgy body against her legs and Roarke’s in turn. “Only some sleet expected in the city tonight, along with high winds. Possibly worse on the way in a day or so. A good night to be inside, with a fire.”

“A cozy night then.” Roarke handed over his coat.

“You might enjoy it with some cocido.”

“Sounds just the thing. You’ll be glad to get out of the winter for a while.”

“I will. A few details to see to tomorrow. I’ll speak to you about some of them in the morning.”

“Watch your step.” Eve tossed her coat over the newel post as Summerset lifted his eyebrows. “No tripping over the cat,” she said as she started upstairs.

Roarke gave her a poke in the ribs as he walked up with her.

“Well, it happened,” she reminded him. “What the hell is cocido, and why would we enjoy it?”

“A hearty Spanish stew, which he likely made himself, and would have taken considerable time and trouble. So it wouldn’t hurt you to be nice.”