“Don’t be silly.” Sylvie gave her a pat on the knee.

  “What did you say?”

  Eliza glanced at Eve, then laid a hand over Sylvie’s. “Something about cheating, and it was tactless considering Sylvie’s situation.”

  “The cheating ex,” Sylvie explained, “who decided he wanted a younger, sleeker model.”

  “As I can’t decide if that’s his loss or his stupidity, I’ll assume it’s both.”

  Sylvie let out a quick laugh as she sparkled at Roarke. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “It’s not kind to speak truth.”

  “It’s a struggle not to envy you,” she said to Eve, “so I’m giving it up. Eliza worries I’m still in love with him, which I was up until the moment I discovered he’d booked a flight for two and a villa on the French Riviera using my account.”

  “What!” Eliza shot up straight. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I found out right before the party, and didn’t want to talk about it there. After … it didn’t seem very important. I handled it.” She patted Eliza’s knee again. “It only took contacting my lawyer. In any case, Eliza thought she’d hurt my feelings, which she hadn’t. But it upset her, so I pointed out it was time she gave the party some entertainment. Others had, and the room was full of talent. But—”

  She wrapped her arm around Eliza in a hug. “There’s only one Eliza Lane.”

  “We’re going to talk about this other thing later, in detail.”

  “You handed your husband your drink,” Eve prompted.

  “Yes, sorry. My mind’s all over the place. I’d already planned to bring Sam up at some point, do that particular duet, so I handed Brant the drink and went to get her.”

  “You and Brant stayed where you were?”

  “For another minute,” Sylvie agreed. “He kissed my cheek, said Mikhail—that’s the ex—was a fool. I wished him a safe, smooth flight to New Zealand, and promised I’d look after Eliza. Then Grant played a quick run on the piano, and Eliza introduced Samantha. We moved forward. I stayed back a bit—it was crowded—but Brant made his way to the front. He’d have known Eliza wanted to see him.”

  “He would,” Eliza murmured. “He knew how much it meant to me to know he was there.”

  “What else did you see?”

  Eliza sent Eve a puzzled look. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Did you see anyone watching your husband more than you, for instance?”

  “Oh. No … No, I didn’t. I saw him. He toasted us, Sam and me. I saw that, but honestly, for the most part the duet demands you play to your partner. Do I have to go through the rest again? The glass breaking, the scream?”

  “No. Only if you remember anything more, or anything differently.”

  “I don’t. I just don’t. Everything after the scream is a blur. And now I keep thinking I gave him a hard time.”

  “About what?”

  “Oh, leaving. The shoot. Just that morning I whined about it, asked him who’d rub my aching feet when I got home from rehearsal. And he said, ‘Dolby, of course,’ and made me laugh. He always made me laugh. He was a good man, that’s something you need to know. I can’t imagine anyone who’d want to hurt him.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me?” Shock ran across her face. “Hurt Brant?”

  “No, who might want to hurt you? It was your drink, and it’s just a matter of timing that you didn’t drink it.”

  “I know you asked before, but … I’m never going to claim I’m as kind or generous as Brant, but—”

  “That’s not true.” Sylvie interrupted with a firm shake of her head. “You are kind, and generous. Brant’s more—was more—easygoing, no question. You didn’t have to include Samantha, do a duet last night. You did that to showcase her.”

  “And for the revival,” Eliza added.

  “You considered pulling out of that. If you did, who’d take your place? You’d have an understudy.”

  “This far out, no. If I decided I couldn’t do it, they’d get another name, someone who’d create some buzz, excitement.”

  “Anyone like that on your guest list?”

  “Well … there’s Sylvie,” she said, and now Sylvie laughed.

  “In my dreams. I don’t have Eliza’s pipes—her range. That’s just fact. I’m a better dancer.”

  “Bitch. She is. And you could absolutely handle it. In fact, when I was wavering, I thought about asking you if you’d step in. Even knowing you have other commitments, which goes back to me not being as selfless as Brant. I’d have leaned on her some there. But moot, because I will do it.”

  “You’ve fired assistants.”

  “Yes.” She rubbed her eyes now. “I’m demanding and insist on loyalty and efficiency. But there’s been no one I’ve let go in the last three years or so. And again, no one like that would have been here. Do you really think someone wanted to poison me, and Brant…”

  “We have to look at that possibility. Why did you invite Vera Harrow? You’re not especially friendly.”

  “Include her, there’s talk. Exclude her, there’s talk.” With a shrug, Eliza drank more wine. “As Brant would say, take the high road. And she’s a draw. My goal was to have today’s entertainment media loaded with reports on the party, the guests, the shine, the, well, swank of it all.”

  She looked down into her wine. “That was the plan,” she murmured.

  “Is there anyone else who might hold hard feelings, resentments, someone you’ve had conflicts with?”

  “Oh, Lieutenant! I’m in show business. It’s drama, conflict, feelings, egos, tears, and tantrums. It’s also work, respect, shared joys and sorrows. Ah, Bristol, the director, and I locked horns countless times on my last vid. There were days I hated him, and I know it was mutual. Yet we pushed each other to do our best work, and when we came out the other side of it, we had nothing but respect for each other. Even Tessa and I—whom I adore—have butted heads.

  “I’ve been in the business since I was fifteen. I don’t have Brant’s temperament, the easygoing, but I honestly can’t think of anyone I’ve tangled with who’d want to kill me. Maybe I just don’t want to think of anyone.”

  “I can think for you,” Sylvie put in. “And no. Now, can I think of plenty who might, at one time or another, want to give you a good shot?” She tapped her fist gently on Eliza’s chin. “I sure can, and that’s me included. But, Lieutenant, killing someone’s a long, long way from that.”

  Not as far as you think, Eve mused, but left it unsaid.

  “And you and Brant. Conflicts?”

  “We were married almost ten years, so we had conflicts. Disagreements, annoyances. And I’ll admit I’m more easily annoyed. Things tended to roll off Brant. And he made it difficult to stay mad or annoyed. I’m sure the two of you have the occasional spat.”

  “I married a bright, beaming ray of sunshine.” Roarke took Eve’s hand, kissed it. And earned a stony glare. “And one who’s often armed.”

  Eliza let out a sighing laugh. “You know each other, love each other, so you understand. There are times feelings get hurt or tempers flare. It’s just part of it. We were always, always there for each other.

  “We were lucky. We both loved our work and were successful with it. Successful enough we could, and did, live our lives as we chose. Beautiful homes, a lovely circle of friends. Fame, and we both enjoyed fame. We fell in love, and stayed there, and both felt the bumps we had on that road before we met were a kind of training ground, a rehearsal if you like, for the marriage we made together.”

  “Both of you are in a business with considerable temptation.”

  “Very true. But why take a bite out of the apple when you can come home to the whole pie? I’ve been in Sylvie’s position, and it’s humiliating and painful. Brant? He never cheated on his first wife, and she’ll tell you the same. He didn’t cheat on Vera—I might have, but that’s not who he was. When he realized he had feelings for me, he went to her, broke it off. There’s been no one for either of us since.”

  A breeze kicked up, fluttered at the pink umbrella and at Eliza’s hair. She lifted her face up to it a moment, eyes closed.

  “You have to ask,” she continued. “I suppose you have to wonder. It’s part of how you find out who and why. But being without Brant? I don’t know how to be without him. Who do I talk to first thing in the morning or the last thing at night? Who knows me like no one else when the curtain’s down or the camera’s off? I don’t think you get another once you find the love of your life. When someone or something takes that away from you, you’re alone. You have friends, you have work, but first thing in the morning, the last thing at night, and at odd times between, you’re alone.”

  “Let me ask this. Is there anyone who didn’t want you to take this part, to do this revival? Someone who might have wanted to see the entire show go down?”

  “Well, Maeve Spindal had a few choice things to say about it. She played Lily, was nominated for a Tony for it, in the original production. She was brilliant—and she didn’t particularly care for me. I was nominated, too—my first starring role. I won; she didn’t. Add I got a lot of attention, and she was the headliner, and I the understudy, as she’s fond of reminding people, who got lucky.”

  “Lucky?”

  “Leah, Leah Rose, was cast in the part. God, what a talent. I was cast as her best friend—as Angie—and her understudy. The morning of opening night … Leah had a problem with pills, pills and alcohol. And that morning, the stage manager found her in her dressing room. She’d overdosed.”

  “There was an investigation?”

  “Oh yes. It was all horrible, heartbreaking, terrifying. We’d had the out-of-town shows, and a performance in New York, the VIP production, and she was just stunning.”

  She looked up at the sky again. “God, it takes me right back. Leah had words with her mother—her mother was a royal pain—before curtain.”

  “About?”

  “I couldn’t tell you, just that it threw Leah off a bit. But the show goes on, of course. She flubbed a line or two in the first scene, nearly missed her mark, but nothing anyone who wasn’t in the company would notice. And she found her groove again quickly. But…”

  She shook her head, took another sip of her wine. “After the show she had a fight with Gary, Gary Proctor. He played Charlie, her love interest. They’d been seeing each other, but they had a spat after the show. She’d been drinking in her dressing room, and she’d promised him she’d stop. Whether the thing with her mother or the fight with Gary, or both, had her reaching for the pills and the bottle, we’ll never know. Eighteen years old,” she murmured. Shook her head again.

  “The rest of us went over to Act Two—that was a theater hangout in those days—to unwind, celebrate, but she stayed back. I suppose I thought she’d just gone home, nearly tagged her, as we were friends—theater family—but I didn’t. And she stayed in her dressing room, drinking Grey Goose and swallowing pills. They ruled it an accidental overdose. She couldn’t have meant to kill herself, not over a couple of missed lines and a fight with a boyfriend. She got a standing ovation that night.”

  Eliza shuddered. “Jesus, the memories. I went on opening night, and Maeve reminded me I was only there because Leah was in the morgue.”

  “It was cruel of her,” Sylvie murmured.

  “It was. True, but cruel. She’s had a few barbed things to say in the press about me trying to step into her shoes now, the way I did Leah’s. And how at least she’s still wearing hers.

  “Well. God. I think I need more wine.”

  “Why don’t I get that for you?” Roarke rose.

  “Oh.” Sylvie gestured vaguely as she put an arm around Eliza. “On the counter in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll find it.”

  “Was she at the party?” Eve asked as Roarke went inside. “Maeve Spindal?”

  “Oh, good God, no.” Eliza shuddered again, but theatrically. “I might have felt obliged if she’d been in New York, but fortunately, she’s in London, getting raves—and I’m forced to say probably well deserved—onstage in Lady Miss Diva. And there’s a title she also well deserves.

  “Thank you,” she added when Roarke brought out the wine bottle. “I dedicated my first Tony to Leah, but I can’t, and haven’t, lived my life constantly questioning why and how I got the chance to earn it. She made a terrible choice. Maeve’s a viper, and I say that with some respect. But it’s been twenty-five years, and she wasn’t here.”

  “Okay. I appreciate your time.” Eve rose. “You should know everyone we spoke with today in the course of the investigation offers condolences. Your doorman asked me to offer his.”

  “Thank you. That matters. It just shows how loved Brant was. Please find who did this to him.”

  “She won’t stop until she does,” Roarke said, and reached down for Eliza’s hand. “Please don’t hesitate to contact me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “People say that, but I see you mean it.”

  “Let me show you out.”

  “No, that’s fine,” Eve told Sylvie. “We’ll show ourselves.”

  11

  “The wheels are turning.” Roarke tapped Eve’s head as they walked to the elevator.

  “It weighs more she was the target.”

  “I’m going to agree. By her own admission, she’s a controlling sort, one who micromanages. All the rest points to him as easygoing, friendly. She butts heads, he smooths feathers. And, yes, the drink was hers.”

  They stepped into the elevator.

  “Taking that route,” Eve continued, “we have Vera Harrow still on the list—on it either way, really. We have the director of her last vid, so I’ll follow up there. Maybe he wasn’t so much bygones as she seems to be. We have her ex-assistants, and I’m going to track them down. She has an ex-husband—in California, but. Fitzhugh’s got an ex, too, but she’s remarried and in Europe. Now there’s this Maeve Spindal, and the whole deal about the dead actress.”

  She shot him a look. “How come you didn’t know about that?”

  “I’ve failed in my duty to know all about all, even what happened in New York when I was roughly twelve and in Dublin.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s got juice, and you usually have the juice. Anyway, something to look at. And this Gary—I’ll get that going, make sure the investigation didn’t miss anything back then. Maybe Feeney knows something.”

  “Why don’t I drive?” They crossed the lobby. “And you can ask him.”

  Henry had the door open for them. “You have a good evening now, Lieutenant, sir.”

  As Eve got into the passenger seat, she shot Roarke another look.

  “You slipped him another tip, didn’t you?”

  Roarke just settled behind the wheel. “Is it home then?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I need to talk to the director, the choreographer, some others, but I need to put this together.” She pulled out her ’link, tagged Feeney.

  His rumpled face topped with his explosion of ginger hair filled the screen. He said, “Yo.”

  “Yo back. Twenty-five years ago, Leah Rose, about eighteen years old, ruled accidental OD, found in her dressing room in the Crystal Gardens Theater before the opening of the Broadway musical Upstage.”

  “Huh. Not my case, but yeah, I remember some of that. It’s how Eliza Lane got her big break, right? The wife’s a big fan. You caught Brant Fitzhugh. Damn shame. He made the kind of vids a guy could sit back with, crack a brew, and relax.”

  “Do you remember the primary?”

  Feeney blew his lips, rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s gonna be Holister, yeah, Holister and—shit—Wimbly. Holister put in his papers a few years back, moved to, I think, Florida. Wimbly, she may still be on the job, but—you know what, she moved to Bumfuck, Somewhere. Took a chief of police slot. I can find out.”

  “I’ll find her. I’m going to dig up the files, have a look through.”

  “You figure a connection with Fitzhugh?”

  “Don’t know until I look.”

  “I can get them faster. I’ll send them to you. Pills, wasn’t it? Pills and … vodka.”

  “That’s the information I have. Take enough pills, mix with liquor, it’s like poison.”

  Cop’s eyes met cop’s eyes as Feeney nodded.

  “I see where you’re going. I’ll dig up the files for you.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “Poisonings, so to speak,” Roarke said when she clicked off, “twenty-five years apart?”

  Eve shrugged. “Maybe we’ll find more in between. But it’s the same play, going into the same theater, twenty-five years apart. So that connects again.”

  “She loved him. No question she could act the part onstage, on-screen, but what I saw face-to-face? She loved him.”

  “I won’t say no. But I’ll say I’ve put more than one person behind bars who loved the one they killed. ‘He cheated.’ ‘She was going to leave me.’ ‘He forgot my birthday.’ Whatever.”

  “Any indication of any of those whatevers here?”

  “Not yet. What do you know about Maeve Spindal?”

  “A formidable stage actor. Musicals primarily. Her screen work wasn’t as well received, as she overplays. She sticks with the stage, where it is very well received.”

  “And here’s Lane, well received in both, and now taking a part Spindal initially created. Could be a pisser.”

  “Hard to poison someone from across an ocean.”

  “Let’s make sure she didn’t take a side trip. Or there’s murder for hire—always a popular option. In any case, I’d like a conversation. She was there when Rose OD’d, and she’s not fond of Lane, so if there’s any dirt, she’d shovel it right up.”

  She sat back as the gates opened. “A lot to chew on.”

  “We’ll have a meal, and you can chew on that as well.”

  The mention of a meal reminded her stomach she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Calculating, she decided not to mention it.

  “I could eat,” she said instead. “After I get the updates done.”

  “Fair enough.” He took her hand when they got out of the car. “That should give me time to have a quick look at Sylvie Bowen’s financials. If you’re considering Lane a suspect or a target, you’ll want more on her closest friend.”