Memory in Death (In Death #22)(27)

"Come on, Mama Tru." The woman's voice was soft as cotton. As she knocked again, she shifted from foot to foot, nervously, on simple canvas skids the same quiet blue as her pants. "We're worried about you now. Come on and open the door. Bobby'll take us out for a nice lunch."

She glanced over with eyes baby blue like her outfit, and gave Eve and Roarke an embarrassed smile. "Morning. Or afternoon by now, I expect."

"She doesn't answer?"

The woman blinked at Eve. "Um... No. My mother-in-law. She wasn't feeling very well yesterday. I'm sorry, is the knocking bothering you?"

"I'm Dallas. Lieutenant Eve. She probably mentioned me."

"You're Eve!" She slapped crossed hands to her chest as her face lit up. "You're Eve. Oh, I'm so glad you came by. This is going to make her feel so much better. I'm just so happy to meet you. I'm Zana. Zana Lombard, Bobby's wife. Oh, gosh, and I'm just not fixed up like I wanted." She brushed at her hair that fell in soft, shiny waves. "You look just like you did on-screen. Mama Tru played that interview for me a couple times. I'm just so distracted I didn't recognize you. Goodness, we're like sisters, aren't we?"

She made a move—an obvious hug move—which Eve evaded by stepping to the side. "No, we're really not." This time Eve knocked, three good, strong pounds with the side of her fist. "Lombard, it's Dallas. Open up."

Zana bit her lip, twisted the silver chain she wore around her fingers. "Maybe I should get Bobby. We're down at the end of the hall. I should get Bobby."

"Why don't you give this a moment?" Roarke suggested, and drew her back gently with a hand on her arm. "I'm the lieutenant's husband."

"Oh, Lord, oh my, of course you are. I recognize you, I sure do. I'm just so confused. I'm starting to worry that something's wrong. I know Mama Tru went to see Eve—the lieutenant—but she wouldn't talk to us about it. She was that upset. Then yesterday." She gripped her hands together, twisted them. "I don't know what's going on. I hate when everyone's upset."

"Then you'd better take a long walk," Eve told her. She shook her 1 head at Roarke, then signalled to the maid who was peeking around I; the corner of the open door of four-twelve. "Open it," she ordered and flashed her badge.

"I'm not really supposed to without permission from the desk." "See this?" Eve waved her badge in the air. "This is permission. You I open the door, or I break in the door. Take your pick."

"I'll get it, I'll get it." The maid hustled over, digging her master out of her pocket. "Sometimes people sleep late on Sundays, you know. Sometimes they just like to sleep in."

When she'd used the master, Eve nudged her aside. "Stand back." She thumped twice more on the door. "Coming in."

She wasn't sleeping. Not in that position, not sprawled on the floor with her nightgown hiked up to her hips and her head resting in a pool of congealed blood.

Odd to feel nothing, Eve realized as she automatically pulled her recorder from her coat pocket. Odd to feel nothing at all.

She fixed it to her lapel, engaged. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve," she began, then Zana was wiggling around her.

"What is it? What's..."

The words became a gurgle, and the first screech erupted before Eve could push her aside. By the second, the maid had joined in with a kind of hysterical harmony.

"Quiet. Shut up! Roarke."

"Wonderful. Ladies..."

He caught Zana before she hit the floor. And the maid ran like a gazelle toward the stairs. Doors began to open here and there along the hall.

"Police." She turned, held her badge in clear view. "Go back in your rooms, please." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't have my field kit."

"I have one in the car," Roarke told her, and laid Zana down on the hall carpet. "It seemed wise to store a few in various vehicles, as this sort of thing happens entirely too often."

"I'm going to need you to go get it. I'm sorry. Just leave her there." She drew out her communicator to call it in.

"What's going on? What's happening?"

"Sir, I need you to go back to your room. This is..."

She wouldn't have recognized him. Why should she? He'd been a blip in her life more than twenty years before. But she knew by the way he paled when he saw the woman passed out cold in the hallway, it was Bobby Lombard who had rushed out of the room at the end of the hall.

She eased the door to four-fifteen closed, and waited.

"Zana! My God, Zana!"

"She fainted. That's all. She'll be fine."

He was on his knees, clutching Zana's hand, patting it the way people do when they feel helpless.

He looked hefty, but in the way a ballplayer does, she thought. Strong and solid. His hair was the color of straw, cut short and neat. Water was beaded on it, and she could smell hotel soap. He hadn't finished buttoning his shirt, and the tail was out.

She had another flash of memory. He'd snuck her food, she remembered. She'd forgotten that, as she'd forgotten him. But sometimes he'd snuck a sandwich or crackers into her room when she was being punished.

He'd been his mother's pride and joy, and had gotten away with a great deal.