Obsession in Death (In Death #40)(37)

“Between five and seven in the evening,” Eve repeated. “December twenty-seventh. Did you see or speak to anyone during that window of time?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saw me, you spoke to me. Jumping Jesus, Hilly, your brain’s always scattered. Don’t know how you get yourself up every day.”

Missenelli fisted her hands on bony hips. “I came over here, asked you about Toby and the groomer’s. Right about six o’clock, because Mr. Missenelli was watching his show, and it comes on at six. And you still in your pajamas – nice ones though, like I said.”

“From my aunt, for Christmas.”

“You had a glass of wine, and you said I should have one, and since I hate Mr. Missenelli’s six o’clock show, I did. Now, you make sure Toby gets to the groomer’s. I appreciate it. You’re a good girl, Hilly.” Missenelli arrowed back at Eve. “Now what’s all this about?”

“Routine,” Eve said.

“Don’t hand me that. This is about that dead lawyer lady, isn’t it? I heard about that.”

“Bastwick?” Hilly’s eyes popped again. “Leanore Bastwick? You’re here about… murder. But, but, but, I didn’t even know her. I thought – I thought you came just to meet me, and talk. And we’d – we’d – we’d hang out. Am I a suspect? Oh my God.”

“Not anymore,” Eve said.

When Hilly burst into tears, hovered over by Mrs. Missenelli, who sent Eve the serious stink eye, Eve got out.

“I think you broke Hilly’s heart.”

“Oh, you’re funny, Peabody. I’m cracking up inside.”

She strode out, got back in the car with a headache throbbing like a tooth. “ ‘Living the dream’?”

“Day in, day out,” Peabody said cheerfully.

“Dreams can become nightmares really fast,” Eve warned, and bulleted away from the curb.

8

Eve pulled up at the lofty dual towers spearing over the Hudson. Since she wasn’t in the mood for snotty, superior doormen, she flipped on her On Duty light and got out of the car, badge in hand.

The doorman, decked in ruby-red jacket with silver braiding, silver pants with a red tuxedo stripe, scowled at it, at her, at the dead ordinary vehicle.

“We only let prime rides sit out here. We got an ambience to uphold.”

“Ambience? Is that why you’re decked out like something that should be on some weird little girl’s doll shelf?”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. “We got an underground lot,” he began.

“This is my badge, that’s my vehicle – and it stays where I put it.”

“Look, look, I’m not trying to give you trouble. My brother-in-law’s on the job in Queens.”

“Good for him. Carmine Atelli.”

The doorman heaved a long, windy sigh. “Penthouse West. Badge or not, you’re going to have to log in, and they’re going to buzz up to Mr. Atelli, ask if he’ll receive. He works nights, so he mostly sleeps days.”

“I’m his wake-up call.”

With Peabody, Eve walked into the slick, shiny lobby with its glossy red walls, silver floors. Huge black vases flanked a seating area, filled with flowers that looked like they’d been plucked from a garden on Venus.

Ambience, she thought. It took all kinds.

A table held a bowl of glossy red apples, and a sleek black computer.

“You’ve got to log in there,” the doorman told her. “You can’t access the elevators unless you have a swipe or you log in and get cleared.”

Eve held her badge up for scanning. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia, NYPSD.”

One moment, please, for verification…

“You could cut through this bullshit,” she said to the doorman.

He pokered up in a way that made Eve think he didn’t much like his brother-in-law in Queens.

“I’m not supposed to clear anybody up without the resident’s say-so.”

Identification verified for Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, Peabody, Detective Delia. Please state the nature of your business and/or the resident you wish to visit.

“Carmine Atelli, Penthouse West.”

One moment please while Mr. Atelli is notified. Would you like to state the nature of your visit?

“You got two cops in the lobby. Guess.”

Unable to comply.

“Underground business must be good,” Peabody commented to the doorman. “For Atelli to rate a place like this.”

“Couldn’t say. I haven’t been down there since I was sixteen and lost a bet.” The doorman hustled over to open the door for a woman wrapped in a blue coat, with a mile of multicolored scarf wrapped around her neck, an earflap hat pulled low over her head, and thick mittens on her hands.

She had three yappy little dogs, all in plaid sweaters – and, to Eve’s amazement, tiny boots – on leashes.

“Thanks, Chester.”

She led the yapping, booted dogs to the elevators, hauling and clucking when they tried to drag her to Eve and Peabody.

“Sorry!” She trilled out a laugh. “They don’t bite!”

She pulled a swipe out of her pocket, then made kissing noises and herded the trio into the elevator.