Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(67)

“It’s all falling apart,” Allika sobbed as Cora drew her up. “He’s dead. My God, he’s dead.”

Cora’s gaze zipped to Eve’s. “Another teacher,” Eve told her.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Yes, sweetheart, come and lie down awhile.”

Cora led her toward the elevator rather than the staircase. She had her arm around Allika when the doors closed, bearing the other woman’s weight as though she weighed no more than a child.

“Contact Mosebly, Peabody,” Eve said with her eyes trained on the second floor. “I want her to come down to Central. Make it pleasant, apologetic. You know how to play it.”

“Just a few more questions, better for everyone if we talk away from the school. Got it.”

As Peabody got out her pocket ’link, Eve walked casually up the stairs. Just checking on a possible wit, possible suspect, she thought. Perfectly understandable, perfectly acceptable. Perfectly legal.

And if she took her time, looking into the other rooms from their doorways, it wasn’t a violation.

She scanned what she assumed was Straffo’s home office. Spacious, slick, touches of pricey chocolate-brown leather. Good view, with privacy screens engaged. Small sofa, not what a guy would stretch out on for a nap. All business, then.

Across from it was what she supposed would be called Allika’s sitting room. There was a small desk with dramatically curved legs, a matching chair. Pastels, she noted. Pinks and greens and a pretty little fireplace. On the mantel were framed photos. She could see several of the kid, the family, one of husband and wife—younger, softer—beaming out. But there was no photo of a little boy.

The doomed son.

Privacy screens again, but with soft green drapes flanking them. A little footstool, a fancy tea set, flowers.

In the room beyond that was what looked like a playroom. Kiddie domain, Eve thought. Toys, a scaled-down desk, lots of bright colors, so heavy on the candy pink it made Eve’s teeth ache.

The kid rated her own comp, Eve noted, her own screen and entertainment center, her own tea set, with table and chairs. The desk area had been fashioned like an office—for the school generation. Disc files, art supplies, which had likely been used to create some of the pictures on the wall.

The room adjoined, Eve saw through an open door, a large cushy bedroom. Very, very girlie, very, very frothy with its pink and white theme, its collection of dolls, doll furniture.

Which struck Eve as a bit creepy. What did dolls need with chairs, beds, tables? Unless they came to life in the dead, dead of night. And used them.

Yeah, definitely creepy.

She moved on, past the door Cora had shut. Eve could hear the woman murmuring to Allika, crooning to her.

She found a guest room that would have passed muster at a five-star hotel.

That made three bedrooms, three baths—no doubt the master bedroom claimed its own—playroom, sitting room, office on the second floor.

She glanced up, wishing she had an excuse to wander up to the top level.

Instead, she waited until Cora slipped out of the master bedroom. Cora put a finger to her lips as she eased the door shut.

“No soundproofing,” she whispered, and gestured for Eve to follow her to the steps leading down.

“Why no soundproofing in a place like this?”

“Missus wouldn’t have it, I’m told. She wants to be able to hear Rayleen in the night. They had a son, you know, and he died.”

“Yeah, I know about that.”

“I gave her a tranquilizer as you said. She should sleep a couple of hours. I told her I’d call her husband, but she said I mustn’t, and cried all the harder. I don’t know what I should do.”

“How’s it been between the Straffos the last day or two?”

“Ah, well,” Cora pushed at her bright hair. “She’s been nervy. I guess since you’re the police it’s not talking out of school to say she didn’t like him lawyering for that teacher who’d been arrested. They had some words about it yesterday. She was upset, no doubt, and demanded what he’d do if this man was to be charged with Mr. Foster’s murder. Mister, he said it wasn’t her place to interfere with his profession.

“No soundproofing,” Cora added with a wry smile. “It’s the first I’ve heard them argue in that way since I came here. I went up to distract Rayleen from it, but she was in her playroom at her desk doing her schoolwork as she does before family dinner each day. Had her music on.” Cora tapped her ears. “The headset. So she’d have been spared hearing them fight.”

“And this morning?”

“Tense. As it was during dinner last night as well. But there was no talk of it while Rayleen and I were about.” Cora glanced at the bags she’d dropped when she’d come in. “Would you mind if I took these back to the kitchen, put things away?”

“No. Fine.” Eve signaled Peabody with a glance, and picked up one of the bags herself. “I’ll take this one.”

Dining room through archway, she noted—lots of silver and black, with a wide terrace beyond. The kitchen—same color scheme with splashes of electric blue—through the door to the right.

“Mrs. Straffo took Rayleen to school today,” Eve began, and set the bag on a wide, stainless work counter.

“Thanks for that. She did, yes.” Cora began to put supplies away in glossy black cupboards or the huge silver fridge. “One of them will, now and then. Though it’s always planned out before. They’re considerate that way, letting me know if I’ll have a bit of time to myself. But the missus told me this morning, just after the mister left.”