Haunted in Death (In Death #22.5)(19)

“Bygones?“

“Worth a trip.“

At the door, Eve paused, turned to study the apartment again. There’d be no ghosts here, she thought. Nothing here but stale air, stale dreams.

Legacies, she thought as she closed the door. Hopkins left one of unfulfilled ambitions, which to her mind carried on the one left by his father.

Bobbie Bray’s granddaughter had worked hard to shut her own heritage out, to live simply. Didn’t want to be Bobbie Bray’s legacy. Eve recalled.

Who could blame her? Or anyone else for that matter.

“If you’re handed crap and disappointment – inherited it,“ Eve amended, “what do you do?“

“Depends, I guess.“ Peabody frowned as they headed down. “You could wallow in it and curse your ancestors, or shovel yourself out of it.“

“Yeah. You could try to shine it up into gold and live the high life – like Hopkins. Obsess over it like Bray’s daughter. Or you could shut the door on it and walk away. Like Bray’s granddaughter.“

“Okay. And?“

“There’s more than one way to shut a door. You drive,“ Eve said when they were outside.

“Drive? Me? It’s not even my birthday!“

“Drive, Peabody.“ In the passenger seat, Eve took out her ppc and brought up John Massey’s military ID data. She cocked her head as she studied the photo.

He’d been young, fresh-faced. A little soft around the mouth, she mused, a little guileless in the eyes. She didn’t see either of his grandparents in him, but she saw something else.

Inherited traits, she thought. Legacies.

Using the dash ‘link, she contacted police artist Detective Yancy.

“Got a quick one for you,“ she told him. “I’m going to shoot you an ID photo. I need you to age it for me.“

Eight

Eve had Peabody stop at the bank Hopkins had used for his loan on Number Twelve. But there was no safety deposit box listed under his name, or Bray’s, or any combination.

To Peabody’s disappointment, Eve took the wheel when they left the bank.

She couldn’t justify asking Roarke to do the search for a safety deposit box, though it passed through her mind. He could no doubt pinpoint one, if one was there to be pinpointed, faster than she could. Even faster than EDD. But she couldn’t term it a matter of life and death.

Just a matter of irritation.

She put in a request to Feeney to assign the task to EDD ace, and Peabody’s heartthrob, Ian McNab while she and Peabody headed back to Bygones.

“McNab will be so completely jazzed about this.“ Smiling – as if even saying his name put a dopey look on her face – Peabody wiggled in the passenger seat. “Looking for a ghost and all that.“

“He’s looking for a bank box.“

“Well yeah, but in a roundabout way, it’s about Bobbie Bray and the ghost thereof. Number Twelve.“

“Stop saying that.“ Eve wanted to grip her own hair and yank, but her hands were currently busy on the wheel. She used those hands to whip around a farting maxibus with a few layers of paint to spare. “I’m going to write an order forbidding anyone within ten feet of me from saying Number Twelve in that – what is it – awed whisper.“

“But you just gotta. Did you know there are all these books, and there are vids, based on Number Twelve, and Bobbie and the whole deal from back then? I did some research. McNab and I downloaded one of the vids last night. It was kind of hokey, but still. And we’re working the case. Maybe they’ll make a vid of that – you know, like they’re going to do one of the Icove case. Completely uptown. We’ll be famous, and – “

Eve stopped at a light, turned her body slowly so she faced her partner. “You even breathe that thought, I’ll choke you until your eyes pop right out of their sockets, then plop into your open gasping mouth where you’ll swallow them whole. And choke to death on your own eyeballs.“

“Well, jeez.“

“Think about it, think carefully, before you breathe again.“

Peabody hunched in her seat and kept her breathing to a minimum.

When they found the shop closed and locked, they detoured to the home address on record.

Maeve opened the door of the three-level brownstone. “Lieutenant, Detective.“

“Closed down shop, Ms. Buchanan?“

“For a day or two.“ She pushed at her hair. Eve watched the movement, the play of light on the striking red. “We were overrun yesterday, only about an hour after you left. Oh, come in, please. I’m a little flustered this morning.“

“Overrun?“ Eve repeated as she stepped into a long, narrow hallway brightened by stained glass windows that let in the winter sun.

“Customers, and most of them looking for bargains. Or wanting to gawk over the Bobbie Bray collection.“ Maeve, dressed in loose white pants, a soft white sweater and white half boots led the way through a wide doorway into a spacious parlor.

Tidy, Eve thought, but not fussy. Antiques – she knew how to recognize the real thing, as Roarke had a penchant for them. Deep cushions in rich colors, old rugs, what looked to be old black-and-white photographs in pewter frames adorning the walls.

No gel cushions, no mood screen, no entertainment unit in sight. Old-world stuff, Eve decided, very much like their place of business.