Devoted in Death (In Death #41)(26)

“He won’t be doing that anymore.”

“Nor will he transport those who value true music with his skills and comprehension.”

“Let’s move on to whereabouts. Where were you Sunday night between eleven p.m. and one a.m.”

“I was here, and would have been in bed by eleven.”

“Alone?”

“My personal life is none —”

“Alone?” Eve repeated, her tone hard as brick.

“Yes, alone. I attended an afternoon musicale, and was home by six. I had a meal, and worked until ten. You can’t possibly believe I had anything to do with Dorian’s death.”

“Last night, between ten p.m. and one a.m.”

“I attended a rehearsal of La Bohème, at Juilliard. I was there from seven until after ten. Two colleagues and I went for a drink afterward to discuss areas that required improvement or change. We met until a little after midnight, then we shared a cab, and I came home.”

“Names.”

“You’re insulting.”

“Yeah, add that to your notes. Names.”

She reeled them off, chin jutted high. “I want you to leave now.”

“Heading that way. Do you own a vehicle?”

“I do not. I live in a city with excellent mass transit, and my work is a five-minute walk from my residence.”

More to needle the woman than anything else, Eve threw out one more. “Have you ever been to Nashville, Tennessee?”

“Certainly not, why would I? That’s the land of Opry, isn’t it?” She said the word as if it was the vilest expletive. “For that reason alone, I will never step foot anywhere in the state.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage without you. Thanks for your time.”

“If you harass me again, I’ll have a lawyer.”

“The only way I’ll come back is if you lied to me about any of this. If that turns out to be the case, you’ll need a lawyer.”

And now, Eve thought as she stepped out into what felt like beautifully fresh air – and Earnestina slammed the door behind her – she needed a drink.

At least the traffic fight comprised a much shorter distance, and she drove through the gates of home not long after the sky went to indigo and the streetlights spread pools of white.

The deeper silhouette of the house that Roarke built, the house that had become hers, rose and spread castle-like with its fanciful turrets and towers. Lights glowed in too many windows to count.

She wanted home more than she wanted that drink. Home, where she would find peace, space, time to clear her head. A place to set up fresh for murder.

She left her car out front, pushed her way through the wind that had decided to kick up its heels again, and went in the front door.

She knew he’d be there, the skeletal build in funereal black with the pudge of a cat at his feet.

Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo, raised his eyebrows. “A completed first day back with no apparent injury or damage. How long can it last?”

“It could end right now if I decide to kick that stick you’re so fond of any farther up your ass.”

“And the day wouldn’t be complete without such an observation.”

She tossed her coat over the newel post because it was handy – and because it annoyed him. And with the cat now rubbing a feline welcome at her leg, started up the stairs.

Stopped.

“I bet you’re a big fan of the opera. That would be right up your alley.”

“I enjoy many of the arts, including opera. I’ve heard Dorian Kuper play, at the Met, at After Midnight, and other venues. I heard of his death shortly ago. To lose someone who’s young and so vibrantly talented is tragic.”

“All murder’s tragic.”

“And some felt more keenly than others. He’s in your hands now? The report didn’t name the primary.”

“He’s mine now,” Eve said and continued upstairs.

She went straight for the bedroom and the locator.

“Where is Roarke?”

Roarke is not in residence at this time.

Not home yet, she thought, and remembered to check her ’link. Sure enough, she found a text from him.

Lieutenant, I hope your day’s going well. She stripped off her jacket as she listened to his voice, to the Irish whispering through it. I’ve a need to make an unscheduled trip to Detroit, but it shouldn’t take long. I’ll be home by half-seven if not before. Until then, take care of my cop.

That gave her some time, she thought. She could get her board set up in her office here, start reviewing notes and reports.

Or, she considered while Galahad wound through her legs like a furry snake, she could clear her head first.

She sat, removed her boots, rubbed the cat who jumped up beside her. Then she changed into workout gear.

When she started for the elevator the cat sat, stared at the opening doors with his suspicious bicolored eyes.

“I’m not a big fan of the moving box, either, but… I’ll be back,” she said as the door closed.

She hadn’t had time, not really, to fully appreciate Roarke’s Christmas gift as the dojo had been completed while they were away.

Now she stepped out into it and took one long, relaxed breath.

The floors, soft gold, gleamed. The space boasted its own little garden where white flowers fanned over the stones of a quietly bubbling water feature in the far corner. Sliding panels concealed a small kitchen area, fully stocked with bottles of spring water and energy drinks.