Celebrity in Death (In Death #34)(81)

Easy in and out, and they hadn’t been seated in a tight group. People had spread out, and as Roundtree had drawn both her and Roarke to the front, seated them, she hadn’t seen exactly where everyone settled.

She pulled out her notes, did a rough outline from the statements of seating arrangements. Dimming the lights again, she tested by sitting in each area, getting the angles, the views.

Interesting, she decided, but a long way from conclusive.

She left the theater for the roof.

She took the elevator. The killer would have, she thought. The quickest way, a way least likely to be seen by other guests or staff. Direct to the rooftop lounge.

Two minutes or less, then out to the pool.

Harris, pacing? Smoking her laced herbals, drinking. Argumentative, threatening, bitchy.

Had the killer argued with her? Impossible to say, or, if so, if the argument had been brief or protracted. The fall, the decision. Drag her in, search the evening bag. Get the bar rag, use the pool water to wipe up the blood, toss the rag in the fire. Take the elevator back down.

Minutes really. It could have taken only minutes. Hardly more than a quick run to the john. Why would anyone notice?

Eve looked up. The dome had been partially opened. A nice October night, but …

Curious she went downstairs again, hunted up the house droid.

“Question. This time of year is the pool dome generally opened or closed?”

“Oh, closed. Ms. Burkette uses the pool every day—or did. It’s been a warm autumn, but she likes to keep the dome heated, the water very warm. And the mechanism needs to be seen to.”

“For what?”

“It sticks off and on. It doesn’t close completely unless you turn it off then on again when it sticks. She was going to have someone come out and fix it, but since the night of the party, she hasn’t used the roof. No one was allowed up there.”

“Did anyone else know about the trick to close it?”

“Mr. Roundtree, of course, most of the staff, the pool maintenance crew.”

“No one else?”

“Not to my knowledge, no.”

“Okay, thanks.”

So the killer opened the dome, Eve thought as she drove home. If Harris had opened it, why close it? Or try to. The information bumped Connie down the list. If she’d wanted it closed, she knew how to make it close.

The killer hadn’t. Maybe hadn’t noticed it hadn’t closed completely. Just flick the mechanism and go.

Why open it in the first place?

Smoke, from the zoner-laced herbals. Good possibility, she decided. Maybe the killer disliked the smell, was allergic, or just wanted the fresh air.

With her mind rolling that angle over and what it might mean, she zipped through the gates of home.

Rain smacked at her as she made the dash to the door, and inside she found the foyer empty.

Too quick for you this time, Scarecrow, she thought, and deliberately shed her jacket and tossed it over the newel post. She missed doing that during warmer weather just because she knew it got under Summerset’s skin.

Pleased with herself, she bounded up the steps and into the bedroom to change to workout gear.

An hour in the gym, some hard laps in the pool, would loosen her body and her mind. To avoid running into Summerset, she took the elevator down, then stopped short when she saw Roarke, already sweaty, doing bench presses.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“I didn’t know you were home.” She walked over, looked down at him. “Did you buy everything already?”

“Everything worth having—today. Did you catch all the bad guys?”

“Made my quota. I thought I’d sweat out some theories, suppositions, and probabilities, then shower before scooping up another load of bad guys.”

“Good plan. Nice to see you.” He clicked the weights on their safety, sat up, and reached for his water bottle. “After a run?”

“Initially.”

“I wouldn’t mind one. Where are you going?”

“Hadn’t decided.”

“I’ve got a new VR program, and two can play.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not after sex sweat.”

He tipped back the water, eyes amused. He’d tied his hair back, and his skin gleamed.

He could probably change her mind on the sweaty activity, she decided.

“Strange, isn’t it, how often your mind leaps straight to sex?”

“Maybe because you’re always nailing me.”

“Maybe. But for now.” He pushed off the bench, walked to a built-in cabinet for the VR gear. “It’s more than a run. There are various obstacles, choices in directions, all of which have their own consequences or rewards. Different scenarios. We have urban, rural, suburban, seemingly deserted landscapes of myriad types. Night, day, a combination. Whatever you like, basically.”

“Is it a game or a workout?”

“It’s both. Why not have fun at it? Where would you like to go?”

She started to pick an urban background—it’s what she knew. But if it was a game, too, that meant competition.

“Let’s go rural.”

“You surprise me.”

“We’ll both be off our turf. Mix up day and night.”

He passed her a set of goggles, began to program. “The goal is to reach the destination that will be shown on the map in the insert at the bottom of your play screen. If you fail to navigate an obstacle or you’re injured, you lose points and distance. Clear one, gain them. Clear so many, you’re rewarded with something useful.”