Festive in Death (In Death #39)(71)

“I may need more wine,” Roarke considered.

“Quick version. Copley cheated on first wife, cheated on almost-fiancée with current wife, and may have cheated on current wife before elopement with almost-fiancée.”

“He keeps busy.”

“Yeah, and for both of them it’s all about sex and money. Not for pleasure, but for ego and power. They had a lot in common only Ziegler was blackmailing and sleeping his way up, Copley married his way up.”

“Yet the side piece—this would be Felicity?” He tapped the photo on the board.

“Yeah, Shipshewana Felicity.”

“She’s lovely and very young. Shipshewana Felicity doesn’t have money or social status.”

“She provides the sex and the adoration, and makes Copley feel superior.”

“If there aren’t any feelings, genuine ones, involved, why not find that sex and adoration with money?”

“He wouldn’t be the first who lost it over big eyes and tits. Maybe this time out he wants to be the one with the big bucks, comparatively. But if his wife cuts him off, he can’t afford his current lifestyle. He can afford a good one, one a lot of people would be happy with, but not what he’s gotten used to. So Ziegler held that threat.”

Eve studied her wine. “I have to go up there, don’t I? I have to go back up there with the crazy people in the ballroom.”

“That’s up to you.”

“Which means I have to go up there and step between caterers and decorators. I’m not wrong for preferring murderers.”

“I’d never say so. But before you go face the worst, I have an early Christmas gift for you.”

“We’re almost there, why does it have to be early?”

“It’s for tonight, and as Trina will be here within the hour—”

“Why! Why did you have to say the name!” She gripped her hair in her fists, turned a fast circle. “I was mellowing.”

“You’ll muddle through it. In any case, she’ll need this.”

He held out a small, wrapped box. Eve eyed it suspiciously.

“Is it something she’s going to slather on me?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Open it, find out for yourself.”

She dealt with the fussy ribbon, tore at the shiny paper.

The classy box had the name of the jewelry embossed on the lid.

Ursa.

The generational family-run shop which had provided her with a solid lead on another killer. She remembered Ursa—the dignified older man who’d been so appalled he’d purchased antique watches stolen from dead parents by their ungrateful and murderous son.

“You pay attention.”

“To you? Always.”

“I don’t know what it is, but it means a lot you went there.”

“It’s a good place, as you said. Run by good people. They asked that I give you their best.”

She shook the box, heard the soft rattle. “This probably is.”

He laughed. “We all agreed it suited you.”

She opened it. It was some sort of comb. From its jewel-encrusted peak fell a rich medley of diamonds and rubies.

“Trina will know how to work it into your hair.”

“You always figure out another way to hang shiny things on me.” She shook it lightly, watched the stones dance. “It moves. It’s really beautiful. It looks old—in a good, classy way.”

“Early twentieth century, reputedly a wedding gift from groom to bride. A few generations later, the fortune was squandered, and this, among other things, was sold. Mr. Ursa acquired it in an estate sale a couple years ago, and—he tells me—kept it in the vault, waiting for the right person. He thought you were, and so did I.”

“Since you’re giving it to me now, I bet it goes with whatever I’m wearing later.”

“I believe it does. You can judge for yourself, but I hope you’ll wear it.”

“I’ll wear it.” She stepped up, kissed him. “Even though I’ll have to suffer through Trina sticking it in my hair.”

“That’s love.”

“Looks like. And so we’re even . . .”

She went to her desk, opened a drawer, took out a small box with the same wrapping and ribbon. “One for you, early.”

The flicker of surprise, the half smile told her she’d caught him off guard. “Really?”

“You’re not the only one who can think about stuff.”

“Apparently not. And it seems Ursa knows how to be discreet. He never mentioned he’d seen you.”

“Maybe you got there first—but in that case, same goes.”

Like Eve, he shook the box, then unwrapped it. He couldn’t begin to guess as buying jewelry of any kind wasn’t on her radar. But inside a small white flower made of mother-of-pearl and platinum nestled.

“You don’t go for the shiny stuff—nothing but a wrist unit for you. But two can play. It’s a lapel thing. A white petunia.”

“Yes, I see. Your wedding flower.”

When he looked up, when those fabulous blue eyes met hers, she saw she’d hit the mark.

“He made it. Mr. Ursa. I can’t take much credit. I just asked him if he could make up this little thing, and he did the rest. Small because you don’t go for the flash, but personal, I figured. And it holds on to the lapel with this little super magnet, so no pins or holes. His idea.”