Born in Death (In Death #23)(49)

“Black, thanks.”

“Light and sweet for me,” Peabody added.

“Are you talking to all of Bick’s clients?” Lordes asked. She poured the coffee with the gold wedding band on her hand gleaming. “I was surprised when you contacted me.”

“We’re talking to a lot of people. In fact, we’ve just come from speaking to Walter Cavendish. He’s a relative of yours, isn’t he?”

“Second cousin.” She wrinkled her nose, just a fraction, just an instant. Another tell, Eve thought. Lordes doesn’t much care for Walter.

“My cousin—Walter’s father—is one of the partners in the firm, London-based. I think that makes us second cousins,” she said with a thoughtful little frown. “Whatever, it’s one of those things. Help yourself to those donuts. I’m going to.” To prove it, she selected one loaded with colorful jimmies.

“Was it your connection with your uncle that sent you to the accounting firm, and then to Bick?”

“Mmm.” Lordes nodded, mouth full. “God, these are obscene. They’ve handled my financial affairs for years. After Miles died—the idiot—I inherited another bundle. I just let it all lay for a while, huddled in Europe. Then when I came back, I asked for a young, savvy account manager. I got Bick—and he was.”

“How did your husband die, if you don’t mind me asking?” Peabody tried to be delicate with a cream-filled.

“Playing around in this little plane he’d built. He loved to fly. Crashed and burned. I loved the stupid jerk. Nearly killed me when I lost him. And it’s been five years this spring—I’m still pissed at him.”

“Can you tell us where you were three nights ago, between midnight and four?”

“That sounds so ominous. I wondered if it would. I looked that up, too, after you got in touch to say you were coming by. I had a little dinner party, just a couple of friends. Female friends. I’m dating again, but it’s suchwork, especially when you’re not really interested. They left about midnight, and I went on to bed. Watched some screen first. Fell asleep watching some old vid.”

“Considering the relationships,” Eve continued, “did you ever have meetings, or have occasion to socialize together with Ms. Copperfield, Mr. Byson, and your cousin—second cousin, that is?”

“With Walter?” Lordes let out a hooting laugh. “No. Absolutely not. I try not to socialize with Walter at all. He really is an idiot.”

“You don’t get along?”

“I can get along with anyone. I just get along better with some if I keep the contact limited.”

“Doesn’t he represent your legal interests here in New York?”

“Not really. My cousin in London looks out for them, and Walter handles some of the busy work. To be frank, he’s not all that bright. He follows directions, files papers, looks good enough in a tux. Anything complex goes through the London office, at least as far as I know.”

She angled her head. “You’re not thinking Walter had anything to do with the murders? I’ve known him all my life. I can tell you he’s not only not smart enough to have done it, he wouldn’t have the stones.”

Eve was just sliding behind the wheel when her ’link beeped. “Dallas.”

“Lieutenant.” Summerset’s biting tone fit his stony face. “You failed to notify me that you were expecting a delivery.”

“I probably failed to notify you that you get uglier every day, but I’ve been busy.”

“The rocker system from a retail establishment called the White Stork has been delivered. What would you like me to do with it?”

She waited a full beat. “Boy, you must be slipping to open yourself up like that. I’ll avoid the obvious answer. Put it in that drawing room place, second level. Where the party’s happening.”

“Very well. In the future I’d appreciate it if you’d inform me of any deliveries.”

“In the future I’d appreciate it if you’d wear a hood over your face before you come on my ’link screen.”

She clicked off, satisfied.

“You guys sure are entertaining,” Peabody commented. “After shift, I’m going to go home, get all the stuff together, then head uptown to your place. I can’t wait to see the rocker and get it decked out for tomorrow.”

“Whoopee.”

“You know she’ll love it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she will.”

“She’ll be like the Fertility Queen or something. Big kick for her.”

“Queen Mavis.” Amused, Eve slipped through a yellow light. “She ought to have a…” She wiggled her fingers over her head.

“A crown! Sure.”

“No, not a crown, too big and formal. The other deal. The whatsit. Tiara.”

“Perfect! Man, that’s mag. See?” She poked Eve’s arm. “You can do this.”

“Looks like I’m doing it.”

Eve took it all back to Central with her—the statements, impressions, instincts. There, she lined them up, wrote the reports, stewed over them. At her board, she began to tack up keywords beside photos, names, connecting arrows.

“You need a bigger board.” Roarke stepped inside, a topcoat slung over his arm.