“It feels like home.” Leonardo looked around with an expression of utter contentment. “Even without furniture, it’s already home.”

  Eve remembered Peabody had said exactly the same.

  “Roarke said we can start moving in furniture next week, in here for sure, which is beyond mag. And over in the parlor or sitting room. Over here.”

  Stroking her baby belly, she crossed the hall to a smaller space done in a rich, saturated blue.

  “I think more like a den or whatever because the sofa I got for here says take a nap, and you can close the room off with the pocket doors.”

  “The lighting’s really good,” Peabody observed. “It’s all coordinated but not matchy. It’s modern, but it slides into the old with just the right tension.”

  “I had a lot of help. You, Leonardo, Roarke.”

  “It looks good,” Eve said. “Really good. It looks like the three of you.”

  “Anybody home?” McNab’s voice came through a speaker somewhere.

  “They made it work!” Baby belly jiggled and swayed as Mavis bounced. She dashed over to a switch on the wall. “We’re here! You fixed it! Big slooch!”

  “Hi, hi, hi,” Bella shouted. “Hi, Nab.”

  “Hey, Bellamini. Be right over.”

  Still bouncing, Mavis turned back. “McNab wanted to add that feature. The house-to-house dealie.” She patted her mountain of belly. “He said they want to be on alert when Number Two decides it’s time.”

  “Then for sure,” Peabody agreed, and scooped Bella up. “And down the road, it’s just convenience.”

  “Added security.” Mavis rolled her eyes, but smiled. “I know you guys.”

  When Roarke and McNab came in, Bella deserted Peabody to launch at him.

  “There’s that pretty girl.”

  “Ork pretty,” she said, and batted her eyes.

  He laughed with her, then looked up. “Lights look just right, and I’ll say the same about what I saw installed at your place, Peabody. Well done, all.”

  “Well done, all,” Bella echoed, and batted her lashes again.

  “Agreed, but we’ve got to go.”

  “Thanks for the lift,” Peabody said. “Mega thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “Come back.” Mavis sandwiched again, fiercely. “When you’ve got real time. There’s a lot more done, both sides, and too totally awesome. I want the Dallas seal of approval.”

  “You’ve already got it, but yeah, when I’ve got real time. And you rocked the lemonade,” she said, and handed the glass back to her.

  “I really did! Tell Summerset!”

  “Somebody will.”

  “Here now, Bella, go to your da. We’ll see you again soon.”

  “Bye, bye, bye. Bye-bye, Ork, bye-bye Das.” She blew kisses from Leonardo’s hip as they started out.

  “There now.” Roarke got behind the wheel. “That didn’t take much time.”

  “Not much.”

  She glanced back. The whole group stood on the porch. Like family. Friends. All those connections crisscrossing.

  “They’re going to be stupid happy. They already are, but even more stupid happy. The house-to-house? Good idea.”

  “I didn’t initially suggest it. Some might find it intrusive. They don’t.”

  “They’ve merged. Yeah, they’ll have their separate spaces, separate lives, and all that. But they’ve merged.”

  “And it’s been lovely to watch. You’re tense.”

  “Am I?” She circled her shoulders, felt the twinges. “Maybe some.” She remembered she’d thought about a swim, but friendship had eaten that time away on her mental schedule.

  “Tell me about today. It’ll relax you to talk it out.”

  “It will. Is that weird?”

  “It’s you, Lieutenant. And when we’re home, we’ll add a glass of wine, a meal.”

  “I had pasta salad for lunch.”

  He glanced over. “Voluntarily?”

  “Peabody did it. And considering how much hiking we’ve done around New York the past couple days, probably a good thing.”

  “Eating lunch isn’t a sign of weakness.”

  “No, I just don’t think about it most days. We stuffed a lot of walking and talking in this one,” she said, and told him.

  By the time they drove through their own gates, she had relaxed, at least a little.

  “Wine wouldn’t hurt,” she decided. “I need to rearrange my board, write some things up, and I want to talk to Marcus Stillwater. But wine wouldn’t hurt.”

  He took her hand as they walked to the house. “Any contact with dogs today?”

  “None. I should be safe.”

  And when they walked in, the cat, sitting beside Summerset, padded over to ribbon through her legs.

  “Late,” Summerset noted, “but unbloodied.”

  “We ended up taking Peabody and McNab to the house,” Roarke told him.

  “Ah, and it’s coming along beautifully, I thought. I had a tour today when I took over some lemons.”

  Instead of a snide remark, Eve felt obliged to tell him, “She did the lemonade. It worked.”

  “She’s a quick study, Mavis.”

  Leaving it there, Eve started up the stairs.

  “She feels pressed,” Roarke observed, “but she made time for them.”

  “Love always finds a way. There’s some nice barbecued chicken. It would go well with the fries the Lieutenant is so fond of.”

  “Then I’ll see to it. Thanks.”

  He went up to find her already shed of her jacket and at her board.

  “Want to do this first, want the visual. Then I want to contact Stillwater. Then—”

  “Wine and a meal before the rest.”

  It seemed fair enough.

  “Give me twenty.”

  “Twenty it is.” And he went into his own office.

  Once she had the visual, she stepped back, nodded.

  She leaned where she leaned, she admitted. But she’d get Stillwater’s take. Then see what she’d see at the memorial.

  She needed a lot more than leaning.

  At her command center, she tried Stillwater.

  He answered right away.

  “Lieutenant, is it done?”

  “If you mean have we made an arrest, no.”

  His eyes went from hopeful to deflated. “I guess I hoped, when I saw your name on the display. I just left Angie’s. We finally talked Shauna into eating something, and lying down awhile. Rough day for her.”

  “I’m sure it was. Who else was there?”

  “At Angie’s? I started to say the usual suspects, but that sounds really wrong given the circumstances. Angie, of course, Becca, Greg, Donna. Donna left when I did.”

  “I ran into Greg at Shauna’s apartment building.”

  “Oh? He didn’t mention it. I think he went by to clear out food. Shauna doesn’t want to go back. I can’t blame her.”

  She could see what she took to be his apartment behind him.

  Pale gray wall, enormous screen flanked by darker gray shelves.

  Like Roarke, he had real books.

  “Mr. Stillwater—”

  “Marcus. It’s Marcus.”

  “Marcus, do you know ChiChi Lopez?”

  “Sure, a little. Not really well. The family restaurant’s great.”

  “Ever been to the club where she performs? Delights?”

  “I actually haven’t. I’m more hands-on getting a woman naked, I guess, but I’ve heard she’s talented.”

  “Right. At the moment I’m asking for impressions. We can start with her.”

  “Okay, but like I said, I don’t know her all that well. Sexy, confident, a little … hard isn’t exactly the word. Edgy might be better.”

  “And her relationship with Erin?”

  “That ended with Shauna—the sex part of it. Not that they didn’t have a friendship after, or I guess I wouldn’t have met her at all.”

  “Impressions again. How did she feel about Shauna, Shauna and Erin?”

  “Impressions? Not especially warm.” He hesitated, moving around as he did so she caught more pieces of his living space.

  And what she believed was an Erin Albright cityscape.

  “Okay, she didn’t like Shauna. At least Shauna told me she didn’t, and Shauna didn’t much like her back. I think she told me rather than Becca or Erin because, well, I’m not one of the girls. Shauna didn’t want to make waves. ChiChi was Erin’s friend, and she didn’t want to cause trouble between them.”

  He shrugged. “I figured the same. Why muck things up? And told her I thought it would smooth out as time went. You don’t think ChiChi—”

  “I’m just gathering impressions. What about Greg Barney?”

  “I know him better. Nice guy. We don’t hang much, but he’s a nice guy. Really into fashion, schedules, but that’s what he does. He and Becca have a good rhythm. He’s like a big brother with Shauna, from my POV. Sometimes it crowded her—she told me—but he meant well. They had a thing back in high school.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “But there wasn’t any animosity, not that I ever saw, or she ever told me. I think she would have. She and Becca are really tight. More good rhythm. That wouldn’t happen if there were old scars, you know what I mean? So no scars, my impression, but a bond, between all three.”

  “He’s aware you and Shauna had a sexual relationship?”

  “Sure.” Now he sat in a black scoop chair. “He didn’t have a problem with it—not that I could tell anyway. Even when Shauna and I weren’t planning on having sex, the four of us went out sometimes. To dinner, a club, just for drinks. He treated her more like a sister than an ex.”

  “Okay.”

  She took him through others in the group, to round it out. And decided he was observant, fairly insightful.

  “I appreciate the time,” she said when Roarke came in and walked to the wine cabinet. “It helps to get different perspectives on Erin’s circle of friends.”

  “She had a wide one, and a good one, I think. I expect all of them will be at the memorial tomorrow. Shauna’s going in with her parents and Erin’s. I’m going to try to go in with Angie and Donna if I can juggle some things.”

  “Detective Peabody and I plan to come, pay our respects. Again, thanks for your time.”

  “Anything that helps, just let me know. She was my friend, too.”

  “I know, and I will. Goodbye.”

  Eve clicked off, sat back.

  “Was that helpful?”

  “Maybe. Maybe.”

  He opened a chilled bottle of sauvignon blanc. “You think you know.”

  “What I think I know toggles, but it’s started to settle. I want my own impressions tomorrow at the memorial. Either way, it’s a stupid fucking murder.”

  He poured two glasses, brought one to her. “Have some wine. Pace about with it as you need to. I’ll see to dinner.”

  “There were vegetables in the pasta salad.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  He went into the kitchen, followed by the hopeful cat.

  Eve pushed up, and drank some wine.

  And paced about.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She kept pacing when he brought in plates.

  “It’s mean.”

  “Murder?” He set the plates on the table by the balcony doors. As they both enjoyed the air, he opened them before turning to her. “It is, yes.”

  “Sure, but sometimes it’s clean in a straightforward way, or crazy, impulsive, or purposeful. This is mean and stupid and personal.”

  “Murder offends you.” Roarke brought the wine to the table. “It often makes you sad or angry—or both. This one also annoys you.”

  She frowned at her board. “Guess it does.”

  “You feel for the victim, always. You’re their agent of justice.”

  “Eve Dallas, Agent of Justice.” On a half laugh, she rolled her eyes.

  “It has a ring. You feel for those left behind, always. And when you look at that board, you know one of those claiming that loss took her life.”

  “Yeah, but that happens.” Frustrated, and yes, annoyed, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “It happens more often than not.”

  “And all that you handle, day after day. But for this you see that mean stupidity, a friend killing a friend and bringing grief to so many others they claim as friends, so many others who were on the verge of celebrating that victim starting a new phase of her life.”

  She did see it. She did feel it. And yeah, she admitted, it seriously annoyed.

  “That was the point, or part of it. Ending it before it began. When Casto came for me, in that same room at the same sort of deal, he didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to end me because I was too close to exposing him. That makes sense. It’s not stupid. It was logical.”

  She gestured to the board with her wineglass. “This one cared about all of that.”

  “Come eat now. You’re frustrating yourself.”

  “I probably am.” She walked over, angled her head at the plates. Chicken glossy with sauce, a heap of fries, and the purple carrots she actually liked, mostly because purple. “That looks really good.”

  She set down her wine, stepped over, and kissed him.

  “That’s because I kicked Casto’s ass that night so now we can sit here and eat what looks really good.”

  She took her seat, snagged a fry. “Looks aren’t deceiving here. Frustrating myself some,” she admitted. “I liked it better when the dead artist’s paintings’ value seemed like a viable angle.”

  “Because murder for monetary gain at least has some logic.”

  “Yeah, it would still be mean and stupid and a little sloppy, but you could see the logic. But that’s not it. Maybe, on some level, it adds a benefit because just about everyone on the board has at least one of her paintings. It’s just not the reason.”

  She sampled the chicken, found whatever coated it had an excellent tang. When Roarke topped off her wine, she decided that was fine. She was just circling anyway.

  Set it aside, she told herself. Let it circle, but set it aside.

  “Why were you downtown?”

  “A meeting at your Off Duty club.”

  “You get a charge out of that, don’t you? Saying it’s my club.”

  “As it is yours, and yes, I do. You already have tenants applying for Stone’s apartment above.”

  “That asshole. Do I?”

  “You do. Once we do some vetting, you can choose.”

  “I can vet. I’m a cop.”

  “That you are.” He smiled, a man who already knew the answer to the question. “Would you like to?”

  “Absolutely completely not.”

  “We’ll be interviewing for managers, bartenders, kitchen and waitstaff, and so on in another couple of months. Would you like to take lead on that?”

  “Stop it.” Laughing, she went for a carrot. “I’m giving all that to you, like a present, because you like it.”

  “Why, thank you, darling.”

  “You’re welcome.” As she ate, thunder rumbled in the distance.

  She remembered it had stormed the night of Erin Albright’s murder. While the group had partied and danced and drank, the storm had rolled in, and rolled out again.

  “You’re doing that security for the D&D.”

  “We are. We should have a system up and running inside a week. You’re wondering how different this would be if he’d already had one.”

  “People find a way around them if they’re smart enough, motivated enough. But yeah. He’ll show at the memorial tomorrow, with Rochelle. It’s personal to him, too.”

  “His place.”

  “There’s that. And he knew her. He liked her. People tended to like her,” she added. “Her across-the-hall neighbors liked her. She gave art lessons to one of their kids, wouldn’t take payment. They had parties, but not loud and obnoxious. When you buy that building in your quest to own every inch of New York, add soundproofing.”

  “I’ll make a note. You have a good picture of her.”

  “Yeah, I do. I have a decent picture of all of them. Still, people have, like, undercurrents. I’m looking at Mavis and her place, right? There she is, green hair—and who knows what it’ll be the next time I see her? That doesn’t surprise me.”

  She lifted her wine, drank.

  “Even knowing she’s going to pop out another kid doesn’t surprise me. Her, well, road, shifted with Leonardo. That doesn’t change basic Mavis, but it…”

  “Expanded her.”

  “Yeah, and literally when you consider Number Two. The color in those rooms, not a surprise. But the way it works, the way the whole place works, the gardening thing, Jesus, making lemonade from actual lemons, all that can still surprise me until I step back and realize all that was always there. She just didn’t have the way, the means, the people to do it.

  “She’s still Mavis, but that road shifted, and she’s taking it.”

  “You shifted mine.”

  She looked back at him. “Guess I did. That goes both ways. So we’re sitting here, having dinner. The cat’s across the room sleeping because you gave him some of that cat candy he likes. We got a breeze coming in because that and the thunder say a storm’s coming. And a handful of years ago, I’d never have pictured this.

  “You, either.”

  “No. I didn’t have a glimmer. Not until I picked up that gray button that came off your unfortunate suit and slipped it into my pocket. Even then, just a glimmer.”

  “You sent me coffee, and maybe I had a glimmer. I just didn’t get it. But here we are. Still, under it, through it, we are what we are. I’m still a murder cop, you’re still a gazillionaire.”

  “It works for us, who we are.”

  “Good thing, or I wouldn’t be eating these fries made from actual potatoes.” She studied him as she ate one. “Do you still have that button?”

  He reached into his pocket, took it out.

  She shook her head; her heart simply soared. “Sap.”

  “In this area,” he said easily. “But smart enough to get through those initial and formidable defenses of yours with coffee.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty damn smart.” She ate a fry made from an actual potato as she studied that incredible face again. “If I’d gone for somebody else, would you have killed me?”