Golden in Death(75)

Peabody, in contrast, went into gooey mode.

“Oh, aren’t you cute? Aren’t you the cutest little thing? It’s okay, baby. What’s your name, baby?”

“If it tells you, I’ll strip naked and dance the hula right here.”

“Jeez, then I really wish she would.” Peabody crouched and made kissy noises.

The dog continued to bark, from a safe distance, but the ferocity eased. And it cocked its head as if considering its next move.

“You know, even dogs that size have teeth,” Eve pointed out. “Sharp little teeth.”

“She doesn’t bite!” A woman ran around the house, long, lustrous ponytail swinging. “Quiet, Lulu!”

Lulu gave one last piping bark, then subsided. Kendel Hayward, looking like the picture-perfect upperclass suburbanite in black yoga pants, pink tennis shoes, and a thin white cardigan over a pink sports tank, scooped the dog up.

“We were just out back. She must’ve heard your car.” Kendel gave Lulu a quick nuzzle. “She thinks she’s a guard dog,” she added with a smile. “Can I help you?”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody, New York City Police and Security Department.” At the words, at the badge Eve held up, the smile on Kendel’s face faded.

“Is something wrong?”

“We’re investigating two homicides in New York connected to Theresa A. Gold Academy. We’d like to ask you some questions.”

“TAG? I don’t understand.”

“We’ll explain. Can we come in?”

“I…” Kendel glanced at the house, clutched the dog a little tighter. “Yes, I guess so. I graduated from there, but that was eight years ago. I’ve lived in East Washington for nearly five years. I don’t really know what I can tell you.”

But she walked toward the house, up the two steps to the portico, used the palm plate to unlock the door.

The atrium entrance soared with a curve of staircase to the right, a small sitting room to the left. A trio of prints—Eve recognized Parisian street scenes—graced the wall over the plush little two-seater sofa.

A central table held a pale green vase of fresh spring flowers.

She led the way back, into a large great room, with conversation areas in shades of blue, green, gray. The wall of glass doors at the back stood open to the spring air.

“Actually, would you mind if we sat out on the patio? Lulu really needs some outdoor time, and even though we have the invisible fence, I like to keep an eye on her.”

“That’s fine.”

“She’s really adorable,” Peabody commented.

“She’s so sweet. My fiancé gave her to me for my birthday last summer.”

When she put Lulu down on the smooth patio stones, the dog raced off for a little red ball. Came back, dropped it at Peabody’s feet.

“Does she want me to throw it?”

“Yeah, but I warn you, she can keep it up for an hour.”

“That’s all right.” Happy to oblige, Peabody tossed the ball.

“I was doing some work out here.” Kendel picked up a tablet, a tall glass, a folder. “I’ll just put this inside. I just made a pitcher of lemonade if you’d like some.”

Give her a minute to settle, Eve thought, and said, “That’d be great.”

The yard, where Peabody threw the ball, the dog chased the ball, held more important trees, more pretty shrubs and flowers, a couple of benches placed in strategic spots.

The patio boasted one of those outdoor kitchens under a vine-smothered pergola, another entertainment area with sofas most people would have been thrilled to place in their living rooms, deep chairs, tables.

Eve settled at the table where Kendel had worked, a kind of coffee in the morning, cocktails in the evening setup.

Kendel came back with a tray—glass pitcher with slices of actual lemon swimming in lemonade, a trio of tall glasses filled with ice. And a glass plate of what Eve thought of as girl cookies.

Small, thin, golden, and glossy.

After setting down the tray, Kendel smiled as the dog chased the ball. “Well, I did warn her. I’m nervous.” She sat. “I think anyone would be when police come to the door, especially about murder.”

“You graduated from Gold, but you haven’t heard about the murders?”

“I’ve been buried in work the last couple weeks. And to tell you the truth—might as well start out that way—I’ve worked really hard to put my years at TAG behind me.”

“Bad experience?”

“You could say that.” Kendel poured out the drinks. Ice crackled in the glasses. “I brought most of it on myself. Can you tell me who was killed? I don’t think I’d know any of the students—I didn’t have much to do with the younger ones. But I might remember some of the teachers.”

“Do you remember Dr. Rufty?”

Kendel let out a gasp, pressed a fist to her chest. “Oh no. No. He’s dead?”

“Not him. His husband.”

“Oh. I don’t think I knew his husband. I might’ve, but … I’m so sorry. Dr. Rufty gave me a second chance. I didn’t want it, didn’t appreciate it—not then anyway—but he gave it.”

“A chance for what?”