Possession in Death (In Death #31.5)(10)

“Beata! You’ve found her.”

“No.”

“Oh.” The smile faded away. “I thought… I’m sorry, what can I do for you?”

“We’re meeting Detective Lloyd on a police matter. We’ll need somewhere to talk. And I’ll need to speak with you and your staff.”

“Of course.” She looked around. “We’re not going to have a table free for at least a half hour, but you can use the kitchen.”

“That’s fine. Your name?”

“Mirium Frido. This is my place, my husband’s and mine. He’s the chef. Is this about Beata? Beata Varga?”

“Indirectly.”

“Give me one minute to put someone else on the door.” Mirium hurried over to one of the waitresses. The girl glanced at Eve and Peabody, nodded.

Mirium signaled Eve forward, then led them through the dining room, past the bar, and through one of a pair of swinging doors into the chaos of the kitchen.

“Dinner rush. I’ll set you up over here—our chef’s table. Jan invites customers back sometimes—gives them a treat. I told Vee to send Detective Lloyd back when he gets here. He’s been in several times about Beata, so everyone knows him. Can you tell me anything about her? Do you have more information?”

“I’ll know more when I speak with the detective. She worked for you.”

“Yes. A beautiful girl and a good worker. She was a pleasure.” Mirium reached back to a shelf, picked up three setups, and arranged them on the table. “I know they think she just took off—Gypsy feet—but it doesn’t make sense. She made amazing tips—the looks, the voice, the personality. And… well, she just wouldn’t be that rude and careless, wouldn’t have left without telling us. Or her family.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No. Nothing serious and no one specific. She dated—she’s young and gorgeous. But she was serious about her dancing. Went to auditions, took classes every day. She had an understudy spot in a small musical review. And she’d just landed a part in the chorus on a new musical spot off-Broadway. There wasn’t enough time for a serious boyfriend. I’m sorry, please sit. How about some food?”

“We’re good, thanks. You have flyers at the reservation station, I noticed.”

“Yes. Her grandmother—well, great-grandmother—is here from Hungary. She had them made up and takes them around the city. She comes by here every day. Detective—”

“Lieutenant,” Eve said automatically.

“Lieutenant, Beata worked here nearly a year. You get to know people who work for you, and I promise you, she wouldn’t worry her family this way. I’m so afraid something’s happened to her. I know Madam Szabo’s determined to find her, but with every day that passes…”

“I’m sorry to tell you Gizi Szabo was killed this afternoon.”

“No.” Instantly Mirium’s eyes filled. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“We’re going to find out.”

“She told my fortune,” Mirium murmured. “Said I would have a child, a son. Jan and I haven’t… That was two months ago. I found out yesterday I’m pregnant. I told her just today.”

“She was in today.”

“Yes, about eleven, I guess.” Shaking her head, Mirium swiped at a tear while the kitchen bustle raged on around them. “She was so happy for me. She said she’d felt his search, my son’s. An old soul, she said, who’d turned the wheel again. She talked like that,” Mirium murmured. “I don’t really believe that sort of thing, but when she looks at you… She’s—she was—Romany, and a speaker for the dead.”

So am I, Eve thought with a quick chill. I speak for the dead. “What time did she leave?”

“She was only here a few minutes. She said she was going home. She said she felt closer to Beata, felt something coming. Or someone. I don’t know, she was —I want to say optimistic. She was going to rest and then do a new spell because she was breaking through, well, the veil. She said Beata was toward the setting sun, below the rays, um, locked beyond the red door. I have no idea what that meant,” Mirium added. “Or if it meant anything, but she was fierce about it. She swore Beata was alive, but trapped. By a devil.”

“I know how that sounds,” she continued. “But—” She glanced over. “Here’s Detective Lloyd. Sorry I went on like that.”

“Don’t be,” Eve told her. “Every detail, every impression, is helpful.”

“I just can’t believe Madam’s gone. She was such a presence, even for the short time I knew her. Excuse me. I need to tell Jan. Hello, Detective Lloyd, have a seat.”

Lloyd was a square-faced, square-bodied man who transmitted I’m a cop from thirty paces. He gave Eve and Peabody a brisk nod, then sat at the little square table. Shook hands.

“It’s too bad about the old lady. She had some juice, had some spine. She should’ve stayed back home.”

She made home where she landed, Eve thought, remembering Peabody’s take. “Tell me about Beata Varga.”

He hitched up a hip, took a disc out of his pocket. “I went ahead and made a copy of the file for you.”