Calculated in Death (In Death #36)(28)

“She has enough money, and connections, to hire someone to do it for her,” Eve pointed out.

“No, not even that. If she had a problem with someone, she’d have her tantrum, throw money around, threaten, throw more money. But murder?”

Alva picked up her wine again, settled back. “Honestly, I don’t think it would occur to her, or that she has it in her. If for some reason she did, she—not being very bright—would brag about it.”

“Interesting,” Eve commented. “That was exactly my take.”

“Maybe I should try law enforcement.” Alva laughed again. “And not in a million years. So . . . You haven’t asked, but I’ll answer. I can’t see Brad doing anything like this either. It’s true I’ve only known him a few weeks, but I’m a much better judge of character than I used to be. And Sissy?”

“Yes. I like him. He has manners, humor, and enthusiasm.”

“My compass,” Alva repeated. “Last night, we had a really good time, relaxing, fun, easy. Dinner, then drinks. I said something about how interesting it must be to refurbish an entire building. I liked that he’d built his company with his friends, that they were revitalizing this building. We talked about it a little, and he said since the building was just a couple blocks away, maybe I’d like to see it.”

“So the idea evolved,” Eve prompted.

“Yes, exactly. And I did want to see it, to see what he and his partners had done. He was excited to show me, pleased I wanted to see it. And I think, possibly, we might have shifted that relationship into the personal. But after . . . We were both so shocked. He took me home, came in awhile. Neither of us wanted to be alone. He caught a couple hours’ sleep in the guest room.”

“What about his partners? What do you know about them?”

“I’ve met them. The Bod—” Laughing, Alva fanned her hand in front of her face. “We had dinner with him—Rob and his fiancée, and Jake and a date. No business. Part of the courtship, I’d say, but very pleasant. I’ve also had my father do some research on them, professionally, and personally. I don’t take chances anymore. He likes what he sees. It’s unlikely he’d shift his allegiances, but he’s fine with them if I decide to.”

“All right. That should do it.”

“Have you been working since I saw you this morning?”

“That’s the job.”

“I can’t imagine it. Sissy and I read the Icove book. We’re going to the premiere.”

“Alva, you take a date.”

“I am.” Alva slid her arm through Sissy’s. “My choice. We really enjoyed the book.”

“It was fascinating,” Sissy said. “I feel sorry for those women, the young girls, the children.”

“So do I.” Eve got to her feet. “I appreciate the time, and the candor. From where I’m standing, you’re doing a good job with that second chance.”

• • •

She put her vehicle on auto, partly because she was bone-ass tired and because she wanted to do a few more runs on the way home. She started standards on every member of the victim’s firm, every member of Whitestone’s firm.

What she needed, Eve decided, was to dig into the files McNab had copied from the victim’s home office unit. That gave them a leg up until Yung finessed a warrant.

And, she admitted, there was no way she could comprehensively analyze financials, numbers, audits, whatever the hell it was unless she cleared her head, recharged.

As she drove through the gates, she rubbed her gritty eyes and thought home had never looked so good.

November’s cold and blowing winds stripped the last of the leaves from the trees rising over the wide green lawn. But that just left the view of the house, its towers and turrets, the castlelike gray stone, open. She could already imagine herself inside—in the warmth, the color, the quiet.

She’d grab a shower first, hot, hot, hot, with all those jets pounding the endless day from her body. Maybe twenty minutes down for a quick power nap. Then some food at her desk while she trudged her way through a bunch of numbers she hoped she’d understand.

She pulled up to the grand front entrance, left her car and, so relieved to just be there, all but sleepwalked into the house.

Summerset stood in the foyer, the nightmare in her dreamscape. His bony body clad in his habitual black suit, he eyed her critically while the fat cat Galahad sat at his heel.

“If the cat had dragged anything in, it would be you.”

Deliberately, she stripped off her coat, tossed it over the newel post. “Only because he’d have figured you weren’t worth the effort.” A little lame, she thought, but coherent.

The cat in question trotted over, started to rub against her leg. He froze, arched, sniffing at her with a wild gleam in his bicolored eyes.

Then he backed up, stared up at her. And hissed.

“Hey!”

“Apparently it’s you he doesn’t appear to think worth the effort.”

For a moment she was both puzzled and mortified. This was her cat—and he had very genuinely saved her life. Twice.

Now he stood like a bloated version of a Halloween cat, back arched, hair on end, snarling.

And she remembered the panther cub.

“It’s not my fault. I was conducting an interview. She had a freaking baby panther. I didn’t invite it over for milk and kibble.”