Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(13)

“How about we find out where the hell some of the reports are, and why they’re not on my desk? I want—” Eve broke off as her computer signaled an incoming. “Morris comes through,” she murmured.

“And while you’re singing the praises of our ME, I’ll go hunt and gather.”

“Computer, display incoming on screen, copy to open file, and print.”

Multitask acknowledged. Working…

As the computer hummed, Eve scanned the toxicology report. “Well, Jesus, Tommy,” she stated, “you didn’t have a snowball’s chance, did you?”

While it printed, she engaged her ’link to harass the sweepers for a preliminary, and because her mind was elsewhere, answered her ’link when it signaled a few minutes later.

“Dallas.”

“You don’t call, you don’t write.”

“Nadine.” Eve didn’t bother to curse herself as she stared into the sharp green eyes of the city’s hottest reporter. The fact that they were friends made it convenient—or inconvenient, depending on the circumstances. “Gosh, I’d just love to chat, but I’m about to do lunch. Then maybe I’ll have a manicure.”

“That’s so cute. You caught a hot one, Dallas, just the kind of case we love to spotlight on Now . Tomorrow night. You’ll lead off, a full ten-minute segment.”

“Again, gosh, but I have to have my eyes put out with a hot poker tomorrow night. Otherwise…”

“Thomas Anders’s murder is big news, Dallas.”

“We haven’t determined or announced the death as murder.”

“That’s not what I hear. Strangled, in bed, with considerable kink attached. If not murder, was it accidental death during sex games?”

So the trickle was already a flood, Eve thought. “You know better, Nadine.”

“A girl’s gotta try. He was a nice guy, Dallas. I’d like to cover this right.”

“You knew him?”

“I did a few features on him, his wife, his nephew over the years. That’s not really knowing someone, but what I did know, I liked. Tabloid media—and a lot of other media—is going to pump up the sex, you know this. I can’t avoid it, but I want to be evenhanded. So help me.”

“Not this time. But I’ll give you Peabody. You won’t screw with her, or the investigation. And she needs to develop her media chops. So you help her.”

“That’s a deal. I’ll have my people get in touch with her, but tell her I need her here, at the studio, by five tomorrow.”

“Nadine, in five words or less, sum up your take on the relationship between Anders and his wife, and Anders and his nephew.”

“With the wife, affectionate and proud. The same for the nephew, but even more so. I remember asking Anders what he considered his finest accomplishment. He turned a photo around that he kept on his desk—one of his nephew. ‘You’re looking at him,’ is what he said. I ended the piece with it.”

“Thanks.” Eve clicked off, glanced over as Peabody clomped in with an armload of food.

“We got your pretend-I’m-turkey wraps, soy chips, and these cute little tubs of veggie hash. I got you a tube of Pepsi.”

Eve watched while Peabody set food on her desk, tidily organizing debris to make room. “What are you angling for, Peabody?”

“Angling? Just making sure you don’t forget to eat. You’re always forgetting to eat, which is why you’re skinny as a snake. Which looks great on you.” Peabody’s gaze darted up and away while she added a napkin and plastic fork. Then her breath huffed out as Eve continued to give her the fish-eye. “Okay, okay. Maybe I was hoping, if we’re not on the tail of some hot lead or whatever, you could find it in your big, generous heart to—”

“Cut the crap.”

“I want to leave early, take an hour’s personal time. McNab and I have a date.”

“You and McNab live together.”

“Yeah, well, see, that’s kind of the point.” Peabody dragged the visitor’s chair over, picked up her wrap, and chowed down. “We realized we didn’t want the cohab thing to take the romance out of things. The spark. So we instituted Date Night. Tonight’s the first, so I really want to get home in time to buff myself up. Special, you know? Kick him in the balls special.”

“If you want to kick him in the balls—and I often want to myself—you should stay home.”

“Dallas.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take the hour, buff and polish, kick him in the balls.”

“Thanks. We’re going to this club, and not one of those bump-and-f*ck joints,” Peabody added, gesturing with a soy chip before popping it into her mouth to crunch. “But where you actually go to listen to music and dance with each other and stuff. I really want to look extreme, so you know, need that hour.”

“Fine. You’ll be making it up tomorrow. You need to report to Nadine’s studio at Channel 75 at seventeen hundred.”

“Whafo?” Peabody asked with a mouthful of veggie hash.

“She’ll interview you on the Anders case, so make sure you’re—”

“What? On the air? Me?” She choked, whistled out a breath while her eyes wheeled, then glugged down Diet Pepsi. “No.”