Celebrity in Death (In Death #34)(9)

She started to make a comment about shoulder-blade jewelry, but when she turned for a look had to admit it looked damned snappy.

“The evenings are cooling off.” He handed her a short, translucent coat. Over the dress it looked like a thin film of stars.

“Did I already have this?”

“You have it now.”

Her eyes shifted to his in the mirror. She had a smart-ass remark ready, but when he smiled at her, she thought, Oh what the hell.

“We look pretty good.”

With his hands on her shoulders, he pressed his cheek to hers. “I think we’ll do.”

“Let’s go play Hollywood.”

It felt like a play, the set, the costumes, the lights. Mason Roundtree’s primary residence might have been New LA, but he didn’t stint on his New York pad.

The Park Avenue townhouse rose three stories and boasted a roof terrace with domed lap pool and garden. He’d gone minimalist contemporary in style with lots of glass, chrome, open space, and blond-toned wood. Here and there a pin light showcased some sinuous sculpture or jewel-toned ball. Art juggled between colorful splashes or dramatic black-and-white photographs.

Off the entryway with its single spear of silver light, the living area spread under high ceilings. A fire simmered low in a silver hearth.

“At last.” Blunt as a thumb in a black suit, Roundtree shot out a hand, gripped Eve’s. He sported a goatee, a perfect triangle of blazing red, and a mass of wildly curling hair.

She thought he might look more at home felling a tree with an axe in some mountain forest rather than a sleekly modern New York drawing room.

“You’re a hard woman to wrangle, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“I guess.”

“I missed you on set today. I wanted some time.”

“It was murder.”

“So I heard.” His eyes blazed blue as he studied her face. “Damn bad timing. I’m hoping you find some time to come down to the studio,” he said to Roarke with another fast grip and grin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Damn near wrapped. I don’t want to jinx it but so far this project’s been smooth as a baby’s ass.” He had his sharp bluebird eyes on Eve again, one hand tugging at his goatee. “You’ve been the only wrinkle. Can’t get you to consult, take meetings, do lunch, interviews.”

“It’s still murder.”

“Ha!”

“Mason, you’re hogging our centerpiece.” A curvy brunette wearing lipstick red with glinting sapphires glided up. “I’m Connie Burkette, Mason’s wife. Welcome.”

“I’m an admirer,” Roarke told her.

She purred. “Nothing lovelier to hear from a gorgeous man. Let me return the compliment to you, and to you,” she said to Eve. “Mason’s been saturated with this project for nearly a year now. And when he’s saturated, I get soaked. I feel like I already know both of you. So, champagne, wine? Something stronger?”

At the most subtle of signals one of the staff passing flutes of champagne sidled over.

“This is good. Thanks.” Eve took a glass.

“Your dress is fabulous. You wear Leonardo, don’t you?”

“He’s a little big for me.”

Connie laughed, an easy, throaty sound that went with her slumberous brown eyes. “That he is. I loved meeting him and Mavis. She’s a true and unique delight. And the baby! What a beauty. Now come along with me, see your old friends, your new ones.”

“Dallas!” Marlo, sleek in a sheath of dull bronze, rushed forward. “I’m so glad you made it. Peabody said you’d already closed the case. Isn’t that amazing?” she said to Connie. “They caught a killer within hours.”

“It’s not hard when the killer’s a moron,” Eve commented.

“Aren’t the two of you something?” Connie caught one of Eve’s hands, one of Marlo’s in turn, and made Eve wonder if everybody in Hollywood felt compelled to touch.

“I’ve known Marlo for years,” Connie continued, “but seeing you both side by side is, well, surreal. There are differences, of course.” Angling her head, Connie looked them both up and down. “Marlo’s a bit shorter, and your eyes are longer in shape—and without the makeup Marlo lacks the little chin cleft—but at a quick glance, it’s—”

“A little spooky,” Eve finished.

“It is.”

“Joel wanted me to have the cleft done surgically—the producer,” Marlo added.

“You’re not kidding.”

“I’m not. Joel tends to go over the top. But it’s what makes him the best.”

“I shaved my head for him for Unreasonable Doubt,” Connie said. “But in that case he and Mason were right. And I have the Oscar to prove it.”

“It wasn’t the shaved head that netted you the Oscar. It was brilliance.”

“See why I keep this beautiful young thing around?” Connie asked. “Oh, that must be Charlotte Mira.”

Eve glanced back. “Yeah. That’s Doctor Mira and her husband, Dennis.” God, he was cute, Eve thought, in his spiffy suit and mismatched socks. She felt more relaxed just looking at him.

“I need to introduce myself. Take care of our star, Marlo.”