Witness in Death (In Death #10)(21)

"He called me. Said he'd been thinking about me, about old times. He wondered if I'd like to get together. I started to tell him to go to hell, but I realized, even after all that time, I wanted some of my own back. I wanted to burn his ass in person. So I agreed to drop by his hotel. They'll have me on the security discs."

"Yeah, they will."

"He'd ordered up a dinner for two. The bastard remembered what we'd had on our first date. Maybe he orders it on all his first dates. It would be just like him. May he rot in hell."

She blew out a breath. "Well, I pulled out the stops myself. I'd really put myself together. New dress. New hair. I let him pour me champagne, and we made small talk while we drank. I knew his moves. I remembered every one of them. And when he ran his fingertips down my cheek, gave me that long, soulful look, I threw my champagne in his face and said everything I wish I'd said six years ago. We had a terrible fight. Broken glass, vicious words, a couple of slaps on both sides."

"He got physical with you?"

"More the other way around, I guess. I slapped him, he slapped me back. Then I punched him in the gut. That took the air out of him. While he was wheezing, I walked out, feeling really good."

"Will the security disc show you looking disheveled, emotional?"

"I don't know." She rubbed her fingers over her mouth again. "Maybe. I didn't think of that. But no matter what, I'm glad I went. I'm glad I finally stood up for myself. But then, Dallas, I made a really big mistake."

The coffee slid greasily through the serving slot. Eve simply pushed it toward Nadine, waited until her friend gulped it down.

"I went to the theater last night. I wanted to prove to myself that I could go, see him, and feel nothing." The coffee was barely lukewarm, but it managed to take the worst chill out of her belly. "I did. I felt nothing. It was like a celebration to finally have that bastard out of my system. I even, oh God, I even went backstage -- used my press pass -- at intermission to tell him."

"You talked to him backstage last night?"

"No. When I got back there, started toward his dressing room, it occurred to me that confronting him again made him too important. It would only feed his ego. So I left. I went out the stage door, and I took a long walk. I did some window-shopping. I stopped off at a hotel bar and bought myself a glass of wine. Then I went home. This morning, I heard... I panicked. Called in sick. I've been sick all day, then I realized I had to talk to you. I had to tell you. I don't know what to do."

"When you went back, you headed for the dressing rooms. Nowhere else?"

"No, I swear."

"Did anyone see you?"

"I don't know. I imagine. I wasn't trying to be invisible."

"I want to do this formally, putting it on record that you came to me with this information. That's the best for you. Meanwhile, I want you to get a lawyer, a good one. Do it quietly and tell the rep everything you told me."

"Okay."

"Did you leave anything out, Nadine? Anything?"

"No. That's all. I only saw him that once in his hotel room, then again onstage. I might have been a sap, Dallas, but I've come a long way. And I'm no coward. If I'd wanted the son of a bitch dead, I'd have killed him myself, not pawned it off on someone else."

"Oh yeah." Eve picked up the coffee, finished it up. "I know it. Talk to the lawyer. We'll do the interview tomorrow." She rose, then after a slight hesitation, patted Nadine's shoulder. "It'll be okay."

"You know what sucks here, Dallas? I was feeling so damn good about everything. Ever since -- you know I do the therapy thing with Mira."

Eve shifted her feet. "Yeah."

"One of the things we got down to is I haven't been open to love -- not the real thing -- since Richard. He really messed me up. Then last night, when I was in that hotel bar, I realized that now I could be. I wanted to be. Lousy timing all around. Thanks for listening."

"Don't mention it." Eve signaled for Peabody. "Nadine, take that literally."

CHAPTER FIVE

The calendar claimed spring was just around the corner, but it was taking a slow walk. Eve drove home in a thin, spitting sleet that was nearly as nasty as her mood.

Press conferences annoyed her.

The only good thing about it, as far as she was concerned, was that it was over. Between that and a day spent in interviews that gave her no more than a murky picture of people and events, she was edgy and dissatisfied.

The fact was, she shouldn't be going home. There was more field work that could be, should be done. But she'd cut Peabody loose, much to her aide's undisguised delight.

She'd take an hour, she told herself. Maybe two. Do some pacing, juggle her thoughts into some sort of order. She chugged and dodged through bad-tempered traffic and tried to block out the irritatingly chirpy sky blimp shouting about the new spring fashions on sale at Bloomingdale's.

She got caught at a light, and in a stinking stream of smoke from a glide-cart currently on fire and being sprayed with gel foam by its unhappy operator. Since the flames seemed reasonably under control, she left him to it and tagged Feeney via her car 'link.

"Progress?"

"Some. I got you backgrounds and current locations, financial data, and criminal records on cast and crew, including permanent theater personnel."