Secrets in Death (In Death #45)(90)

“You are police? Someone has been murdered!”

He said it with a kind of relish that had his mother—Eve assumed—giving him a look that translated in every language.

Shut up.

A girl a few years younger than the boy with flyaway blond hair and feet in pink bunny slippers ran in, with a man—a less gangly, taller version of the boy—following. Since he wore pajama pants, like the boy, and a New York City sweatshirt, Eve concluded the family hadn’t gotten a full start on their day.

“Is there a problem?” he asked in perfect English, with the charm of the accent.

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, NYPSD. We’re looking for information on the individual who lives next door. Angela Terra.”

“I’m sorry. We arrived only last week.”

“I like your coats very much,” the girl piped in. “I would like the long like you, but in the pink like you.”

The mother stepped back, stroked a hand over the girl’s head, and whispered something that had the kid shrugging.

“I don’t know how we can help,” the man said.

“Could we have your names?”

“Of course, excuse me. I’m Jean-Paul Laroche. My wife, Marie-Clare, our son, Julian, and our daughter, Claudette.”

“Would you like to sit?” Marie-Clare asked.

“If we could, for a minute.”

They trooped, the entire group, into a living area with colorful disorder—a couple of stuffed animals, a tossed sweater, some striped house skids—over what struck as bland furnishings.

They’d brightened them a bit with bowls and vases of flowers and some framed photos.

“We haven’t settled in.” Marie-Clare gestured to chairs. “May I offer you the coffee?”

“No, thanks. We won’t take much of your time.”

The entire family sat on the couch, looked expectantly at Eve.

“You’re moving to New York?”

“For three months,” Jean-Paul said. “I have business, and Marie-Clare has family.”

“My aunt and my cousins. It’s an opportunity to experience. The children will start school here on Monday.”

That got an eye roll from the boy, a wide grin from the girl.

“We have taken the house for the three months,” Jean-Paul continued. “And are having a short holiday before work and school begin.”

“Have you seen anyone next door since you arrived?”

“No.” He glanced at his family, got head shakes.

“It’s always dark,” Claudette added, “the windows.”

“Okay.” Dead end here, Eve thought. “So you found the property through your work?”

“I work for Travel Home. We are a global agency listing homes and flats for travelers who prefer this rather than a hotel, you see?”

“My cousin lives only one block,” Marie-Clare told Eve. “We can walk to see each other, and she has children close to the ages of ours. I worked with my husband’s assistant to find this house, this neighborhood. Through my husband’s business people can travel and stay in homes, a night, a year.”

“Handy,” Eve said, getting a polite, if puzzled, smile in return.

Wouldn’t it be really handy? she thought.

“The properties you—and clients—can rent belong to this Travel Home?”

“Listed with,” Jean-Paul corrected. “We take applications, you see, and screen the owners and the properties, visit them to be certain they are as they claim to be.”

“Got it. You’d probably know who owns this house.”

“I could not tell you from the top of my head, but it would be easy to find out.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He rose. “Excuse me one moment.”

“Maybe somebody’s dead in the next door,” the boy said when his father walked out.

“I doubt it,” Eve said.

“Maybe.”

His mother sighed and patted his knee.

“I like also your boots very much,” Claudette told Peabody.

“Thanks.”

“Yours are very nice,” she added for Eve.

“They do the job.”

Jean-Paul came back in with a PPC. “The owner is Terra Consultants, and the address for the owner is next door. The property has our highest rating or I would not have brought my family into it. Is there a worry here?”

“No. No worry. We appreciate your time and your help. Enjoy your time in New York.”

Outside, Eve started toward the houses on the other side. “Get us a search warrant, Peabody. The ID for Angela Terra and her company is very shaky, and we believe this is an alias and front for Larinda Mars. Go ahead and move my vehicle before we start an insurrection—bring my field kit back with you. I’ll knock on some doors.”

“Buy the whole duplex, rent out the connecting half to people who come and go—and don’t look to make pals. Smart.”

“Yeah, she had brains.”

Eve had knocked on four doors by the time Peabody got back, and they hit two more together—with the same negative results—by the time the warrant came through.

Eve used her master, got through one lock, then one more. But the third held firm.