Witness in Death (In Death #10)(9)

"That's a question for the producers, I imagine. But it wouldn't surprise me, at least in the short term."

"I appreciate the information, Miss Landsdowne." And that much information, unbidden, was always suspect.

"I've got nothing to hide." She moved her shoulders again and kept those big green eyes on Eve's face. "And if I did, I imagine you'd dig it out. I've heard quite a bit about Roarke's cop wife over the last few months. It took a certain arrogance, don't you think, to choose a night you'd be in the audience to do murder?"

"Arrogance is required to take another's life. I'll be in touch, Miss Landsdowne."

"I don't doubt it."

Eve waited until the woman was nearly to the wings. "One thing."

"Yes?"

"You don't care much for Areena Mansfield either."

"I don't have strong feelings about her one way or the other." Carly tilted her head, lifted one eyebrow in a high arch. "Why do you ask?"

"You weren't very sympathetic when she fainted."

The smile came back, bright enough to play to the back rows. "A damn graceful faint, wasn't it? Actors, Lieutenant Dallas, you can't trust them."

With a casual toss of her hair, she made her exit.

"So," Eve murmured, "who's performing?"

"Lieutenant." One of the sweepers, a young, fresh-faced woman, marched up to Eve. Her baggy protective jumpsuit made little swishing noises with each step. "Got a little toy here I think you'll want to take a look at."

"Well, well." Eve took the evidence bag, pursed her lips as she studied the knife. Through the clear plastic she fingered the tip of the blade, felt it retract. "Where'd you find this, ah..." She scanned the name stitched on the breast of the dull gray jumpsuit. "Lombowsky."

"In a vase full of genuine long-stemmed red roses. Nice flowers. The room was packed with them like it was a state funeral or something. Areena Mansfield's dressing room."

"Good work."

"Thanks, Lieutenant."

"Do you know where Mansfield is?"

"She's in the cast lounge. Your man's with her."

"Peabody?"

"No, sir. Your husband." Lombowsky waited until Eve scowled down at the prop knife before she dared to raise her eyebrows. It had been her first up-close look at Roarke, and she considered him worth two big eyesful.

"Finish the sweep, Lombowsky."

"On it, Lieutenant."

Eve strode offstage and caught Peabody coming out of a dressing room. "I've got four of the interviews scheduled."

"Fine. Change of plan for tonight." Eve held up the dummy knife. "Sweepers found this in Mansfield's dressing room, tucked in with some roses."

"You going to charge her?"

"Her lawyer'd get her bounced before I got her into Central. It's awfully damn pat, isn't it, Peabody? She kills him in front of a packed house and stashes the prop knife in her own dressing room. Very neat or very stupid." Eve turned the evidence bag over in her hands. "Let's see what she has to say about it. Where's the cast lounge?"

"Lower level. We can take the stairs."

"Fine. You know anything about actors?"

"Sure. Free-Agers are big on all the arts. My mother did some little theater when I was coming up, and two of my cousins are actors. Live stage work and small screen stuff. And my great-grandmother was a performance artist in San Francisco before she retired. Then there's my -- "

"Okay, all right." Shaking her head, Eve clattered down the stairs. "How did you stand all those people crowding into your life?"

"I like people," Peabody said cheerfully.

"Why?"

Since it wasn't a question that required an answer, Peabody gestured to the left as they came to the bottom of the steps. "You like them, too. You just pretend to be snarly."

"I am snarly. If and when I cut Mansfield loose, or she lawyers, I want you to stick with her. If she goes home, settles in, call for a couple of uniforms to watch her place. We've got enough for a surveillance clearance. I want to know where she goes and what she does."

"Want me to run the background check on her now?"

"No, I'll take care of it."

Eve pulled open the door to the lounge. As with anything Roarke had his fingers in, it was far from shabby. Obviously he wanted the talent comfortable and had spared no expense to insure it.

There were two separate seating areas with plush sofas flanked by serving droids. The room bent into an ell, with the short leg offering an AutoChef she assumed was fully stocked, a clear-fronted friggie holding a variety of cold drinks, and a small, separate table with a slick little computer setup.

Roarke sat, cozily to Eve's mind, beside Areena in the sitting area on the right, swirling a snifter of brandy. His gaze; that lightning-strike blue, shifted to his wife's face, gleamed there, and reminded her of the first time she'd seen him, face-to-face.

He hadn't been baby-sitting a murder suspect then. He'd been one.

His lips curved in a lazy, confident smile. "Hello, Peabody," he said, but his eyes remained on Eve's face.