Memory in Death (In Death #22)(82)

"Insalada mista," Roarke told him. "Two. And I'll have the chicken Parmesan." He dipped some bread in the herbed oil already on the table, handed it to her. "Sop some of that wine up, why don't you?"

She stuffed the bread in her mouth.

"Describe the waiter for me."

"What? Why?"

"It's entertaining. Go ahead." And it would settle her down, he thought.

She shrugged, took another good swallow of wine. "Caucasian male, mid-thirties. Wearing black pants, white shirt, black loafer-style shoes. Five eight, a hundred and fifty. Brown and brown. Smooth complexion. Full bottom lip, long nose with a good-sized hook to it. Crooked eye-tooth on the left. Straight, thick eyebrows. Bronx accent, but he's working on losing it. Small stud, right earlobe—some kind of blue stone. Thick silver band, ring finger, left hand. Gay. He's probably got a spouse."

"Gay?"

"Yeah, he checked you out, not me. So?"

"So. As I said, entertaining. What went wrong today?"

"What didn't?" she answered, and told him.

The salads arrived before she'd finished, so she stabbed at hers.

"So, that's where I'm at. Can't beat up Baxter or Trueheart, because— as far as I can see—they did the job. Wouldn't have been a job if I hadn't worked it."

"Which means you beat up on yourself. What's the point, Eve? If he was pushed, where does it come from? Where's the gain?"

"You can go back to money. Trudy was pretty well set, and he's doing okay. Or you go back to revenge. He was there, living in the house, her blood relation, when she was fostering."

"He brought you food," Roarke reminded her. "You wouldn't have been the only one he'd done that for."

"Probably not. But he didn't stand up. Maybe somebody figures he should have." Do you?

She stabbed more salad, drank more wine. "No. Blood's thicker, and so's self-preservation. I don't blame him for anything. But he was a kid when I was there, just another kid. He was older before she gave up fostering. Someone could figure he should pay, too."

"His silence makes him an accessory?"

"Something like that. And damn it, it would be easier to erase them at home, wouldn't it? Yeah, you got a strange city, more people, so that's a plus. But you'd be able to scope their routines more back in Texas. Which takes me back, at least part of the way, to impulse."

"Have you considered Bobby's pretty new wife?"

"Yeah, and still am. Maybe she wasn't as tolerant of her mother-in-law as she claims. From my side, it would take a hell of a lot of tolerance. So she sees an opportunity, takes it. Get rid of Mama Tru, and put the money in Bobby's pocket. Then, hey, why not ditch the middle man? He's out, I'm in.

Could she be stupid enough to think I wouldn't look at her for it?"

"When you look, what do you see?"

"Nothing that pops up and screams 'I'm a murderer,' not on evidence, not on her record. But she's a little too sweet and sissy for me."

He smiled a little. "Can girls be sissies?"

"In my world. All that pink and pastel and 'Mama Tru.'" Eve stuffed more bread in her mouth.

"Cries if you look at her."

"Well now, you've a dead mother-in-law, an abduction, and a husband in the hospital. Seems a few tears are justified."

Eve just drummed her fingers. "There's nothing in her record that leans toward this. I don't see anyone marrying Bobby for money— just not enough of it, even if she'd known about Trudy's dirty little nest egg."

"A million or so makes a comfortable life in some circles," he reminded her.

"Now you sound like Peabody. I'm not jaded about money," she muttered. "But marrying somebody to get your hands on it, when you're going to have to off him, and his mother. It's a big stretch. And I don't see how she could have known, beforehand, that Trudy had dough stashed here and there."

"A connection to one of the women who'd been blackmailed?" he suggested.

She had to give him credit. He thought like a cop, something he'd wince over if she mentioned it. "Yeah, that was a thought. I did some digging, trying to see if I could find something there. Nothing, so far anyway. I read the witness reports, and two say she grabbed for him, tried to grab his arm as he went into the street. Just like she said."

"But you still wonder."

"Yeah, you gotta wonder. She's the one, on the spot, for both incidents. She's the one connected to both victims. And at this point, she's the one who stands to gain the most if money is the motive."

"So you have guards on her, as much to keep track of her as for her protection."

"Can't do much more until the twenty-sixth. Lab won't push, half my men are out or their minds are. There's no immediate danger to the populace, so I can't get the lab to push. Even the sweepers didn't get back to me on the results from the room next to my scene. Christmas is bogging me down."

"Bah, humbug."

"I get that," she said and pointed a finger at him. "I turned down a candy cane today."

She told him about drunken Santa while their entrees were served.