Golden in Death(65)
“I love you for your cynical mind.”
“Who wouldn’t? It tells me the Cosner kid liked getting a buzz on more than studying, and probably didn’t have the guts to bully and cheat once he lost his cohorts. He’s a loser.
“And for Hayward, it tells me she had at least one parent who made her stick it out, then at least pretend to work for a living. That could be a pisser when all that money’s just there, and now you’re hooked up with a rich boy whose mom might be president one day. You’ve got an image to maintain.”
She drank some coffee. “All of them do.”
“It doesn’t seem like motive for murder.”
She gave him a bland stare. “Didn’t spend much time in high school, did you?”
“We don’t have high school, so to speak, in Ireland.”
“Whatever it’s called there.”
“I went when I couldn’t get out of it.” Smiling, he sipped more whiskey. “There are a lot of ways out of it.”
“Not in state school, so I can tell you grudges and resentments formed in high school root deep. And plenty of people—you have to know some—never fully leave high school, either because they were the big deal, or because they were less than nobody.”
He glanced back at her board. “You’re right about that, aren’t you? So, persons of interest or suspects?”
“We’ll keep them as POIs for now. But that rounds back to me being very interested in talking to Rodriges. It’ll be tomorrow afternoon. I’ll tag you when I have a better handle on the when.”
“Good enough. I’m going to finish up a bit of work while you set up your tomorrow. Then, since apparently we had a fight this morning, we need to make up.”
“I thought we already did.”
“You’re the one with the Marriage Rules.” He toasted her before he finished off the whiskey. “There must be a notation on makeup sex.”
“Maybe.”
“If not, write it down,” he advised, and strolled into his office.
14
She woke in slow, easy layers, and decided that makeup sex definitely promoted a solid night’s sleep.
Roarke and Galahad watched the morning financial reports across the room. Over her head, the sky window showed a bold blue sky.
A pretty good deal all around.
She rolled out, headed straight for coffee. Because makeup sex meant she hadn’t had the energy to get up for a sleep shirt, she drank the first sips naked.
“That’s a fine sight in the morning,” Roarke commented.
“I figure naked’s a fine sight for you any hour of any day.”
“You wouldn’t be wrong.”
She studied him in his perfect suit, perfect tie. “Since I can’t go through the day naked, you pick out what I need to wear.”
Fingers still lazily scratching the cat, he studied her in turn. “Are you quite well, Lieutenant?”
“I’m going to start the day with a memorial, go down to East Washington and take on a nasty-assed headmaster, shift over to deal with a pampered mean girl before coming back, working on a couple of bullies. And very likely a whole bunch of high-priced lawyers.”
She walked toward the bathroom for a shower. “You’ll figure it out quicker.”
While the shower woke her the rest of the way, she rolled through her day’s schedule. She’d meet Peabody at the memorial to kick it off. Would the killer make an appearance or resist that moment of satisfaction?
A former student, a parent, a teacher, another administrator.
He or she would be in that pool. Nothing else made sense.
She tossed on a robe, walked back into the bedroom to find Roarke had, as predicted, figured it out faster.
But still.
She frowned at the jacket and slim-cut pants set out on the bed. “What color is that?”
“I believe it’s called fog.”
“But it has, like, a shine.”
“Sheen,” he corrected. “A faint sheen. That’s called power. And for today, a suit rather than separates adds another step of power. The monochromatic shirt and boots give you a sleek, unbroken look. You’ll wince and wear these little sapphire studs—subtle, understated—to polish it off.”
She did wince. “Maybe it’s too fancy.”
“It’s not at all fancy, but again, powerful. And with a simple, elegant cut that will serve as an excellent contrast when you begin kicking asses.”
“Hmm.” She hadn’t thought of that part, and found it appealing.
“Have your breakfast first. I’ve gone for a full Irish, as you’ll have a long day.”
She liked a full Irish, especially with another cup of coffee.
“You know, dealing with this whole school thing, getting a sense of how Grange ran it, how Rufty’s running it, it’s got me thinking about what you’re doing with An Didean.”
“What we’re doing.”
“I haven’t done jack compared—”
“Not at all true,” he interrupted. “You had input, and you gave me very important ideas on what not to do based on your experience. On what should be done.”
“Well, anyway. Other than the scholarship kids, or kids from parents who saved like maniacs, Gold’s a school for the privileged. Maybe more diverse economically since Rufty, but a private academy’s primarily for rich kids whose parents want the status and the potential leg up into Ivy League. Nothing wrong with that, but…”