Minx put her fingers to her lips when they trembled. “‘Cover for me, Minx. Hot date. Tell you all about it.’ She was fourteen, fifteen. She got caught with pills, caught drinking, did some rehab, or pretended to. I didn’t tell anyone, not even my dad, my mom. Not my mother, my mom. Heaven. She was Mom to me once she came into our life. I should have told them. Told someone.”

  “You were a child,” Peabody pointed out.

  “So was she, really. About the time my mother’s marriage to her father was hitting the skids, her mother took her to New York. But she kept in touch with me. She’d call, text, do screen time. We were close. I realized, much later, that part of that was she had a built-in audience with me. I loved hearing about New York, her auditions, her performances. I was getting parts, too, and she listened.”

  Minx let out a sigh. “Rose always listened. I had a baby brother, and I adored him, then a baby sister, same thing. My mother married again, so more siblings there, and we’re close, too. We’re good. But Rose? Nobody ever understood what I wanted, what I was working for, what was inside me like Rose. Because she wanted it, worked for it, had it inside her.”

  “Then she died.”

  “Yes. We were there that night, opening night. Our grandparents—Heaven’s parents—kept the little guys, and they surprised me with a trip to New York. They knew how much it meant to me. Rose got us seats—orchestra seats.”

  Her eyes filled, spilled over. “I was so excited. I had a bouquet for her. She’d gotten us backstage passes, but when we went back, somebody pulled my father aside. They told him what happened. They took me outside, Mom and Dad, by the stage door, and he had to tell me.”

  “No one notified you prior?”

  “We weren’t next of kin. Her father wouldn’t have thought of me, and her mother? Well, she looked at me more as competition than Rose’s sister. The play ran for years. I didn’t see it that night, but when I went to New York to attend Juilliard, I went to a Sunday matinee, by myself. It was brilliant. Eliza wasn’t Marcie Bright, as she’d left long before, but it was brilliant. And I cried while I watched it because I could see Rose as Marcie. She’d have been perfect.”

  “Eliza Lane stepped right in, and got everything Rose wanted. You must resent that.”

  As she swiped a tear away, Minx stared at Eve. “No. Why would I? Rose did this to herself. I hate that, I resent that, but she did it to herself. Eliza stepped in, stepped up because that’s what she was supposed to do. The cast and crew depended on that. The audience depended on that. Rose…”

  She reached up to pat the hand Malcomb had on her shoulder. “I loved her. My beautiful, exciting, wild big sister. But something was broken in her. She wasn’t suicidal, but in the end isn’t that what happened? She risked her life, her health, her dreams every time she took those pills, washed them down with vodka. Eliza wasn’t responsible for Rose’s choices.”

  Malcomb kept his hand on Minx’s shoulder, but his eyes were on Eve’s now. Hard on Eve’s. “You think Minx—you think she might have killed Brant to punish Eliza.”

  “No.” Minx’s quick protest faded off. “Oh God, that’s crazy.” Her free hand pressed on her belly. “I couldn’t kill anyone. And Brant—how could I … He wasn’t even…”

  “Maybe the wrong person drank the poison. It was Eliza’s drink.”

  “Why would I want to hurt Eliza for something my sister did to herself? Why would I risk the livelihoods of the cast and crew? My own, too? I have a child, and I’m going to have another. I couldn’t take a life. Rose has been gone twenty-five years. What kind of person would strike out at someone over a part in a play?”

  “People strike out for all kinds of reasons. You’ve been in these workshops day after day. Pressure builds up.”

  “That’s bullshit.” Malcomb shot to his feet. “You’re not going to sit there accusing my wife of murder, for God’s sake. You need to leave.”

  “Malcomb, wait, just wait.”

  “I’m not going to have you upset this way.”

  “You can do a lot of things.” She reached up for his hands. “But you can’t make this go away. There is pressure, and I had some moments when we got started. Not resentment, Lieutenant. Some sorrow for what might have been. The idea if Rose hadn’t fallen to her addiction, I might be choreographing her in this revival. What might’ve been. But I never blamed Eliza. I didn’t blame my partner for missing a step and dropping me. We were exhausted, sweaty. He fumbled a step, his hands slipped, and I went down, down hard.”

  Absently, she rubbed her knee.

  “I wanted the stage, and I had it. I had it. I was good, really, really good, and that moment, that mistake, that accident ended it. I could have danced, sure, after the surgery, the recovery, but I’d never have been as good. It wasn’t his fault, or the choreographer’s fault, or the director’s fault. But I lost what I’d wanted all my life.

  “I went to a dark place for a while, and wouldn’t have come out of it without my family. And Rose.”

  “Rose?” Eve repeated. “She died long before your injury.”

  “Because Mom sat me down one night. The upshot of what she said was I was alive, healthy, talented, young. But most of all alive. And life meant choices and new chances, new paths. Rose chose poorly. It was time for me to choose well. It wasn’t like a light switch, but I chose, and I chose damn well.”

  She tugged Malcomb so he sat back on the arm of the chair.

  “If I hadn’t had that fall, had to pick myself up and choose another way, another dream, I might not have met Malcomb. I might not have Ariella, or whoever this is going to be.”

  Malcomb leaned down, folded himself so he could kiss her.

  “Rose chose poorly,” Minx continued. “Who knows who and what she might have been, but she chose. That’s not on Eliza, and it sure as hell isn’t on Brant. If I were to blame anyone besides Rose herself, it would be her mother.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because she knew. Now that I’m a mother I understand being one means the most important thing in the world is keeping your child safe, well, happy. The most important thing, when I look back, to Debra, was making Rose a star, and feeding off that light. Her father … he was more wrapped up in himself. He was never unkind, but whenever Rose stayed with him, with us, during that period, she did whatever she wanted—as long as it didn’t inconvenience him and my mother. And my mother? Rose was a mild annoyance at best. Debra ruled, and she knew.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “‘I can see those cookies you stuffed in your face on your ass, Rose.’ Comments like that. And Rose told me her mother scored the pills, at least some of them. And the drinking? Debra had to know. Rose would drunk text or tag me, and more than once on a tag, Debra would come in and cut it off, warn me to mind my own. As I said, she didn’t really like me. I know Rose moved out when she turned eighteen, just like I know Debra pushed in whenever she could. Because Rose told me.”

  “Did you know she’d terminated a pregnancy?”

  “No.” Minx closed her eyes. “No, she never told me that. I’m sorry. It must’ve been hard for her.”

  “Do you know who the father might have been?”

  “I don’t. She was serious about boys, about men, but not anyone in particular. At least she never told me. Debra might, I don’t know. I couldn’t tell you where she is, what she’s doing. I haven’t seen her since Rose’s funeral.”

  Minx blew out a breath, hugged herself. “I was eleven, devastated, and Debra went at me.”

  “At the funeral?”

  “Yes. Shrieked at me. How I’d tried to use Rose, tried to exploit her. I was trying to lay a rose on my sister’s casket, and she—Debra—shoved me back. My dad charged forward, but my mom beat him to it. Heaven, I mean. She stared Debra down—I’ll never forget how Mom put an arm around me, and just sliced that woman open with a look. She never said a word. She didn’t have to.”

  Minx swiped at tears. “Anyway, I put the rose on the casket, and we went home.”

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper, but the idea of you accusing Minx of murder…” Malcomb gripped his wife’s hand. “Jesus Christ. And we were together the whole time we were at the damn party, so you’ll have to look at me as an accomplice.”

  “Malcomb, you throttle back now.”

  “It’s true. We didn’t get there until almost nine. I was running late—and you can check on that. We told Kacie we’d be home by eleven. She was sleeping over, but Minx tires out by eleven these days. And I stuck with her because, well, we’d just really found out she was pregnant. I get…”

  “Protective,” Minx finished. “Look, maybe, in hindsight, I should’ve told Eliza, Eliza and Tessa at least. But secrets get around in theater, and I didn’t want to put anybody on edge or go through what I just went through with you, or have people I’m working with sending me those quick looks.

  “I don’t know what else I can say. I wouldn’t even know how to get the poison.”

  “Let’s try this. Did Rose ever talk about Eliza?”

  “Oh, sure. She talked about a lot of the cast. She liked her—they liked each other. Debra didn’t like her—Rose joked about that, and Rose was contrary enough to like Eliza for that reason alone. Jerry, Gary? Jerry or Gary, maybe. I think he was in the cast and they were sleeping together. Maybe.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not sure. Lieutenant, I was eleven, already working professionally, taking classes, trying to get through school, imagining myself like Rose, on Broadway. We talked and texted pretty regularly, but I just can’t remember all of it.

  “She took advantage of her father’s self-involvement, had a love-hate relationship with her mother, much like the part she would’ve played in Upstage. Except Lily’s not downright mean. Rose sometimes used me as a sounding board, but she also listened. She was talented, troubled, difficult, surprisingly generous, and selfish depending on her mood. That’s hindsight, but at the time she was just Rose, my big sister.”

  “Okay. I can get a warrant to have a team search your residence and studios, to have someone from EDD go through your electronics. Or you can waive that.”

  “Look at whatever you want.”

  “Minx, you need to sleep.”

  “Sweetie, not a chance of that now. Let’s just get this done. There’s nothing here. We’ll get dressed and go meet Ari at the park. I think we could both use the fresh air.”

  “Should we get a lawyer?”

  “That’s up to you,” Eve told him. “You’re not being charged. We’ll complete the search as quickly as possible, and your cooperation’s noted.”

  “I’m scared, I admit it. Not of you finding anything, because there’s nothing. But that this will be enough to get me fired.” Minx rose. “Is it possible for you to wait to tell Eliza? I’d like to tell her myself. I could tag her and Tessa when we get to the park, explain all this. I’d like to get that done, too.”

  “That’s fine. I can have a team here very shortly, and notify you when they’re finished.”

  “All right.” Hands clasped, they walked into the bedroom together, shut the door.

  “That was a lot.” Peabody pushed up to wander the living area. “Maybe I’m naive, but I bought it.”

  “Everything sounded reasonable and sincere. We’ll see if it holds up. Tag McNab. I’ll see who we can get to search. We’ll get a jump on that when they leave.”

  “No warrant, do it now? If they’re big fat liars and had something here, they’ve already gotten rid of it.”

  “Unless it’s something they overlooked, aren’t thinking about. Tag McNab,” she repeated. “Let’s get this going.”

  Since Baxter and Trueheart had caught one, she pulled in Jenkinson and Reineke. By the time she’d set it up, the couple came out. Both wore khakis and T-shirts. Minx had on a cross-body bag.

  “We’ll get this done as quickly as possible,” Eve repeated. “Again, you can refuse, but if I could look into your bag, Ms. Novak?”

  “My bag? Oh.” She opened it, held it out. “This feels horrible.”

  Before Eve could ask, Malcomb pulled out his wallet, then turned out his otherwise empty pockets. “I was pissed,” he said. “Then it struck me—I saw the vid, too—that to find who killed Brant, and more important to me now, to prove without a shadow Minx had no part in it, you need someone smart and thorough. Somebody who doesn’t let the little things slide by. So I’ve decided not to be pissed at you. As much.”

  “You get used to it. People being pissed at you.”

  “I guess you have to. Come on, babe, a walk, fresh air, and our wild child. Just what we need.”

  When the door closed, Eve turned to Peabody. “You take the kid’s room to start.”

  “We’re doing the right thing, for the right reasons. I can’t see them in this, Dallas, just can’t. But we have to be smart, we have to be thorough before we can cross them off.”

  “So let’s be both. Be both, Peabody. Where’s the last place you’d expect to find any evidence of a crime?”

  “The baby’s room.”

  “And you’re more likely to spot something off in there right away than I am. I’ll take the master.”

  They’d made the bed, she noted, and if any clothes had been tossed around, they’d picked them up. But the room looked lived-in, with kid items scattered around, like the monitor thing so they could spy on the kid.

  She started on the closets, finished the room, and had moved into the master bath when the buzzer sounded.

  “I’ve got it,” Peabody called out. “Kid’s room, bathroom clear.”

  Eve worked through the room, one she found a calm, updated space. Minx had a solid collection of skin gunk, hair gunk, face gunk, but nothing approaching what Eve had found in Eliza’s space.

  When she came out, Jenkinson worked through the first of the guest rooms. She tried not to focus on his tie—one covered with multicolored magnifying glasses over midnight black.

  “Reineke’s doing the living area with Peabody. I’ll go through the other rooms after this. Looks like they’re remodeling or something. Other room’s full of supplies. Got a storage room, too. McNab’s in there ’cause it’s got the house system e’s. Got another john, but that’s stripped down—more supplies in there.”

  “I’ll check with McNab and Reineke, then Peabody and I are heading out. Let me know when you’re done so I can inform the residents.”

  “Will do.”

  She tracked down McNab in what looked like an organized storage and house system room.

  “Nice system,” he said. “Got your monitor for the door cam, full house—that covers the two floors—audio—entertainment and intercom—temp, and light controls.”

  “Check the feed, see when the residents left the building and returned, night in question. Do a face rec on anyone who came in. There’s a nanny, mixed race, early twenties. She must have a swipe and code for street level, since she buzzed in from up here. Run her just for form, and any other visitors in the last week.”

  She slipped her hands into her pockets. “You’ve got two tablets in the master. There’s a mini D and C in the dance studio downstairs—the mirrored one—and a full-sized and some other components in the other studio.”

  “We’ll get ’em.”

  She walked through before heading into the living area, scanned the spaces Jenkinson mentioned, found another room—empty and shabby, another stripped-down bath attached, a large closet holding cold-weather gear—and tubs, she discovered, of baby clothes, maybe maternity clothes, winter clothes.

  She found Reineke and Peabody talking home improvement while they searched under cushions, in drawers, behind wall art.

  “With me, Peabody. Over to you, Reineke.”

  “Nice space,” he commented. “They must pull in some solid scratch to afford a space like this.”

  “Apparently they do. Roarke cleared their finances.”

  “Roarke cleared them, they’re clear. I’m going to get over there, Peabody.”

  “Anytime. Reineke’s great-grandfather died a couple months ago.”

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “A hundred and eighteen, so that’s a life. Anyway, he wasn’t rolling it in, but he left Reineke one of his life insurance policies and this house on the Jersey Shore. It needs a lot of work, and he figures a good chunk of the insurance money to fix it up.”

  “What’s he going to do with a house on the Jersey Shore?”

  “Vacation place, and he could rent it out all but the couple weeks they’d use it. He’s going to try to do some of the work himself.”

  Eve paused to do another scan of the studios. “He can do that?”

  “Maybe. He said his dad’s handy, and he’s got an uncle who works in construction, so maybe.”

  “Well, good luck and all that. Run Rose Bernstein’s mother. Let’s find out where she is and what she’s up to.”

  Peabody pulled out her PPC as they walked down the last flight of stairs. “Where are we headed now?”

  “Back to Central. I want another look at the files on Bernstein, and see if I can connect with the investigator.”

  “A quarter of a century’s a long time to remember details.”

  “Feeney remembered, and it wasn’t his case.”

  “Yeah, but Feeney’s Feeney,” Peabody pointed out, and Eve couldn’t disagree.

  “Debra Rose—figures—Bernstein, age sixty-six, no current permanent address. Last employment listed with StarLight Traveling Players—of which she was the owner and main attraction under the name Debbie Starr. That went under—and looks like she filed bankruptcy to skip out on civil suits alleging lack of payment. For performers, vendors, venues. Close to three years ago.”

  “So she’s broke, possibly homeless.”

  “Looks like it.” Peabody kept reading as she got into the car. “Prior to that, she ran Madam Rose’s Dance School, under the name Delilah Rose. Closed that down after five years, and before that. Jesus, Dallas, she’s been around. Before that, she ran Bernstein’s Talent Agency—that one out of the Bronx, four-year run there. There’s independent vocal coach, acting lessons. She worked as a showgirl in Vegas for a few years, and hey, traveled the carny circuit for a year.”