Imitation in Death (In Death #17)(21)

Tables were long and low, in that same blond tone.

A fuzzy white kitten curled on one of the tables, and blinked emerald eyes at Eve.

"Please relax. I'll let Carmichael know you're here."

Peabody walked over and poked at one of the floor cushions. "I guess you sink right in and it molds to your butt."

Experimentally, she reached back and patted a hand over her ass. "That could be embarrassing."

"That music is making my teeth ache." Eve ran her tongue around them, then turned as Carmichael Smith made his entrance.

He was tall, about six three with a well-toned body he was currently showing off in a fluid white vest that left his pees and abs on display., His pants were black and snug, so he could display his other attributes. His hair was dramatically streaked black and white, and worn back in a queue to leave his face-wide, high-boned, and narrowed to a sharp, pointed chin-unframed. His eyes were deep, melted chocolate brown, his skin the color of coffee, light.

"Ah, Lieutenant Dallas. Or do I call you Mrs. Roarke?" Eve heard Peabody's smothered snort, ignored it. "You call me Lieutenant Dallas."

"Of course, of course." He strode in, vest streaming, and took the hand she'd yet to offer in both of his. "It's just that I only made the connection this morning." He gave her hand an intimate squeeze, then turned his charm on Peabody. "And who might you be?"

"My aide, Officer Peabody. I have some questions, Mr. Smith."

"More than happy to answer" them." He took Peabody's hand as he had Eve's. "Please, please, sit. Li's bringing us some tea. I" have a special morning blend for energy. It's simply fantastic. Call me Carmichael."

He lowered smoothly to a peach-colored cushion and took the little cat into his lap. "There now, Snowdrop, did you think Daddy had forgotten you?"

She didn't want to sit on one of the cushions, nor did she want to remain, standing and towering over him. So she sat on the table.

"Can you tell me where you were, early yesterday morning, between midnight and three A.M?"

Like the cat, he blinked. "Well, that sounds very official. Is there some problem?"

"Yes, the murder of a woman in Chinatown." " "I don't understand. Such negative energy." He breathed deep. "We try to keep a positive flow in this house."

"Yeah, I'm sure Jacie Wooton found being sliced up a pretty negative experience. Can you verify your whereabouts, Mr. Smith?"

"Li," he said as the black woman in flowing white streamed in. "Do I know anyone named Jacie Wooton?"

"No.

"Do we know where I was night before last, between midnight and three?"

"Yes, of course." She poured pale gold tea from a pale blue pot into pale blue cups. "You were attending the dinner party hosted by the Rislings until ten. You escorted Ms. Hubble home, had a nightcap with her in, her apartment,'and returned here about midnight. You spent twenty minutes in your isolation tank to eliminate any negativity before retiring. You were in bed by one-thirty, and had your usual wake-up call at eight the following morning."

'Thank you." He picked up the teacup she'd set on the table. "It's difficult for me to keep all those details in my head. I'd be lost without Li."

"I'd like the names and addresses of the people you were with, to verify this information."

"I'm feeling very unsettled about this."

"It's routine, Mr. Smith. When I confirm your alibi, I can move on."

"Li will provide you with anything you need." He made a gesture with his hand. "It's important to my well-being, to my work, to keep my senses stimulated by the positive, by love and by beauty."

"Right. You have a standing order from Whittier's in London for a certain type of stationery. Your last purchase of it was four months ago."

"No. I never purchase anything. I can't go. into shops, you see. My fans are so enthusiastic. I have things brought in to me, or Li, or one of my staff goes into the shops. I do enjoy good stationery. I feel it's important to send personal notes, on good paper, to friends or those who've made some contribution."

"Cream-colored, heavy-eight bond. Unrecycled."

"Unrecycled?" He ducked his head, smiling into, his cup like a small boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I'm ashamed to say I have been using something like that. Not very green of me, but it's gorgeous paper. Li, does my writing paper come from London?"

"I can check."

"She'll check."

"Fine. I'd like a sample of it, too, if you don't mind, and the names of any staff members who were authorized to make purchases for you in London."

"I'll take care of that." Li glided out again.

"I don't quite understand how my writing paper could interest you."

"There was a note, written on that style of paper, left with the body."

"Please." He lifted both hands, drawing them up his own body as he breathed in, pushing them outward as he exhaled. "I don't want that sort of image corrupting my senses. That's why I listen only to my own music. I never watch the media reports, except for specially selected features on entertainment or society. There's too much darkness in the world. Too much despair."