by J. D. Robb
She looked down at her shoes, studying the shine, and hoping the body language looked subservient. “He also cheats on Pepper, regularly by my take. He hit on me, and it seemed like a natural rhythm. Guy’s got more tired lines than an afternoon soap and less talent at selling them.”
“You hit back?”
“Enough to keep the rhythm up, not enough to get me a reprimand should there be an official inquiry. Maybe you could stomp off to the elevator now. It’s getting hard to keep looking naive and subservient.”
Eve obliged and timed it so Peabody barely had time to nip in with her before the doors shut. “I thought that was a good touch.”
“Good thing my butt isn’t any bigger than it already is. He’s shifting his story for the night of the Wooton murder. Says he and Pepper are just business partners now, and keeping up the pretext of otherwise so there isn’t any negative publicity through the run of the play. Still says he was at home all night, though, and home all Sunday morning. Alone. The original Lonely Guy.”
“What kind of moronic female falls for that crap?” Eve wondered.
“Lots, I guess, depending on the delivery.” She moved her shoulders. “His wasn’t bad, actually. But it was too quick, and too obvious. Anyhow, he claims he went to the Gold Key on Madison about one on Sunday. I say he’s twinking at least one of those bimbos on the side. He’s not the type for an LC. Isn’t going to pay for it when he can bullshit and brag his way into it. And I’d say it’d be news to Pepper that they’re just business partners now. I’d also say he doesn’t think much of women as a species.”
Go, Peabody, Eve thought, and leaned back against the elevator wall as her aide ran it through. “Thinks about them, because he probably imagines fucking any woman who’s remotely attractive. But he doesn’t like them. He kept calling you that woman. Never referred to you by name or rank. And there was a lot of passion in the way he said it.”
“Good job.”
“I don’t know that I found out anything really useful. Except now that I think about it, I can see him doing the murders.”
“You found out he’s lying to his lover, and if he isn’t actively cheating—which he likely is—he’s open to cheating. You found out that he had the opportunity to commit both murders. So he’s a liar and a cheat. Doesn’t make him a murderer, but he’s a liar and a cheat with opportunity, with access to the stationery found at both crime scenes, and that he has an attitude toward women. That’s not bad for the day.”
Carmichael Smith was in the studio—in New L.A.—so she gave him a pass for the day. She found Niles Renquist so heavily wrapped in red tape that she decided to do an end run around him and aim for his wife.
The Renquists’ New York home wasn’t Breen’s upwardly mobile family neighborhood, or Carmichael’s trendy loft. It was all dignity and restrained grace in faded brick and tall windows.
The entrance hall, where they were admitted with considerable reluctance and disapproval by a uniformed housekeeper who could have given Summerset a run for his money, was done in creams and burgundies and the subtle sheen of religiously polished antiques.
Lilies, white and burgundy in a crystal vase, sat on a long narrow table along the staircase and scented the air. Along with it was an echoing hush she associated with empty houses or churches.
“It’s like a museum,” Peabody said out of the corner of her mouth. “You and Roarke have all this cool, rich people stuff, but it’s different. People live there.”
Before Eve could respond there was the female sound of heels on wood. People lived here, too, Eve thought, but she had a feeling they were a different type altogether.
The woman who walked toward them was as beautiful, as dignified, and as quietly elegant as the home she’d made. Her hair was a soft blonde, carefully coiffed into a short bob that caught the light. Her face was pale and creamy, with a hint of rose on cheeks and lips. This one, Eve thought, never left the house without sunscreen, top to toe. She wore wide-legged pants, killer heels, and a blousy shirt with a faint sheen, all in cream.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” There was a high-toned drift of England in her voice, and the hand she offered was cool. “Pamela Renquist. I’m sorry, but I’m expecting company shortly. If you’d contacted my secretary, I’m sure we could have arranged an appointment at a more convenient time.”
“Then I’ll try to keep the inconvenience short.”
“If this is about the stationery, your time would be of more use speaking with my secretary. She handles the bulk of my correspondence.”
“Did you buy the stationery, Mrs. Renquist?”
“Quite possibly.” Her face never changed, held its mildly pleasant expression as she spoke with the kind of undiluted politeness Eve always found insulting. “I enjoy shopping when in London, but I rarely keep track of every little purchase. We certainly have the paper, so it hardly matters if I bought it myself, or Niles, or one of our assistants made the purchase for us. I was under the impression my husband had discussed this with you.”
“He did. There is considerable repetition and overlap in a homicide investigation. Could you tell me where you and your husband were on the night—”
“We were precisely where Niles has already told you we were on the night of that unfortunate person’s murder.” Her tone became frigid and dismissive. “My husband is a very busy man, Lieutenant, and I know he’s already taken the time to speak with you regarding this matter. I have nothing to add to what he’s already told you, and I’m expecting guests.”
Not so fast, sweetheart. “I haven’t yet spoken to your husband regarding a second murder. I’d like you to tell me where you both were on Sunday, between eight and noon.”
For the first time since the woman had walked down the hall, she looked flustered. It was momentary, just a slight heightening of color on that creamy skin, a slight frown around the rosy mouth. Then it was smooth and pale again.
“I find this very tedious, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah, me, too. But there you go. Sunday, Mrs. Renquist.”
Pamela drew air sharply through her chiseled nostrils. “We have brunch on Sundays at ten-thirty. Prior to that, my husband would have enjoyed a well-deserved hour in our relaxation tank, as he does every Sunday, when schedule permits, between nine and ten. While he was doing so, I would have joined him in our home health center for my own Sunday morning hour of exercise. At eleven-thirty, after brunch, my daughter would have gone with her au pair to a museum, while my husband and I prepared to go to the club for a doubles match with friends. Is that detailed enough, Lieutenant?”
She said lieutenant as another woman might have said nosy, insolent bitch. Eve had to give her credit for it. “You and your husband were home on Sunday from eight until noon.”
“As I’ve just said.”
“Mummy.”
They both turned and looked at the young girl—gold and pink and white, as pretty as a frosted cake—on the stairs. A woman of about twenty-five, with a spill of black hair clipped back neatly at her nape, held the girl’s hand.
“Not now, Rose. It’s impolite to interrupt. Sophia, take Rose back upstairs. I’ll let you know when the guests have arrived.” She spoke to her daughter and the woman in the same polite and distant tones.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave the girl’s hand a little tug—Eve saw it, and the slight resistance of the child before the girl went obediently back up the stairs.
“If there’s nothing more, Lieutenant, you’ll have to make an appointment with either myself or my husband through our offices.” She walked to the door, opened it. “I hope you find who you’re looking for soon, so this can be put to rest.”
“I’m sure Jacie Wooton and Lois Gregg feel exactly the same way. Thanks for your time.”
Chapter 10
With the help of Lois Gregg’s daughter-in-law, Eve mapped out the daily routine of the victim’s life.
Leah Gregg served iced tea in the compact nook off her compact kitchen. S
he wanted to keep her hands busy, Eve could see. And her mind occupied. More, Eve saw a woman who wanted to take some active part in standing for her husband’s mother.
“We were close. Actually, Lois was closer to me than my own mother. Mine lives in Denver with my stepfather. We have issues.” She smiled when she said it, a tight-lipped grimace that indicated they were big issues. “But Lois was the best. Some of my friends have trouble with their in-laws. Unwanted advice, little digs, interference.”
She shrugged, and sat across from Eve at the narrow service bar. Then she nodded at the ring on Eve’s left hand. “You’re married, so you know how it can be—especially with mothers of sons, who don’t want to let go of their baby boy.”
Eve made a noncommittal sound. There was no point in saying no, she didn’t know how it could be. Her husband’s mother had been forced to let go of her baby boy a long, long time ago.
“But I didn’t get any of that from Lois. Not that she didn’t love her kids. She just knew how to keep it all balanced. She was fun, and smart, and had a life of her own. She loved her kids, she loved the grands, she loved me.” Leah had to take a long, calming breath. “Jeff and his sister, all of us really, are just flattened by this. She was young and healthy, vital and active. The sort of woman you expect to live forever, I guess. To lose her this way, it’s just cruel. But well . . .” She took another breath. “I guess you know that, in your line of work. And it’s not why you’re here.”
“I know this is hard, Mrs. Gregg, and I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.”
“I’ll do anything, absolutely anything, to help you find the bastard who did this to Lois. I mean that.”
Eve saw that she did. “I take it you talked to her often.”
“Two, three times a week. We got together very often: Sunday dinners, shopping sprees, girl days. We were friends, Lieutenant. Lois and I . . . she was, I guess I’ve just realized, she was my best friend. Oh, shit.”
She broke off, pushing off to grab some tissue. “I’m not going to lose it, it won’t help her or Jeff or the kids for me to lose it. Just give me a second.”
“Take your time.”
“We’re having a memorial tomorrow. She didn’t want anything formal or depressing. She used to joke about it. ‘When my time comes,’ she’d say, ‘I want you to have a nice, tasteful memorial service and make it short. Then, break out the champagne and have a party. Celebrate my life.’ That’s what we want to do, we will do because she wanted it. But it wasn’t supposed to be now. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I don’t know how we’ll get through it. One minute at a time, I guess.”
She sat again, breathed again. “Okay. I know what was done to her. Jeff told me. He tried not to, but he fell apart and it all came pouring out, so I know what was done to her. You don’t have to be delicate with me.”
“She must’ve liked you a lot.” It was the first time Peabody had spoken, and the comment had Leah’s eyes tearing again.
“Thanks. Now what can I do?”
“She wore a ring, third finger, left hand.”
“Yes, she considered it her wedding ring though she and Sam never made it formal. Sam was the love of her life. He died a few years ago in an accident, and she continued to wear his ring.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Sure. Gold band, channel set with little sapphires. Five little sapphires because he gave it to her on their fifth anniversary. Very classic, very simple. Lois didn’t like flashy jewelry.”
She paused a moment, and Eve could see it sink in. “He took it? He took her ring? The bastard, the filthy son of a bitch. That ring mattered to her.”
“The fact that her killer took the ring may help us find and identify him. When we find it, and him, you’ll be able to positively identify it. That will help us build our case.”
“All right, all right. Thanks. I can think of it that way now, think of it as a way to lock him up. That helps.”
“Did she mention anything, however casually,” Eve began, “about meeting someone, seeing someone hanging around the neighborhood?”
“No.” Her kitchen ’link beeped, and she ignored it.
“You can get that,” Eve told her. “We can wait.”
“No, it’s someone calling with condolences. Everyone who knew her is calling. This is more important now.”
Eve angled her head. “Officer Peabody’s right. She must’ve liked you very much.”
“She’d have expected me to handle this, the way she would’ve handled it. So I will.”
“Think carefully then. Any mention of anyone she might’ve met or seen in the last few weeks.”
“She was friendly, the sort who talks to strangers on line at the market or strikes up conversations in the subway. So she wouldn’t have mentioned anything like that unless it was out of the ordinary for her.”
“Take me through the places she’d go, the routes she’d take. Daily business sort of thing. I’m looking for repetition and habit, the kind of thing someone who was tracking her could use to determine she’d have been alone in the apartment Sunday morning.”
“Okay.” Leah began to outline Lois’s basic routines as Eve took notes.
It was a simple life, if an active one. Fitness classes three times a week, bi-weekly sessions at a salon, market on Fridays, Thursday evenings out with friends for a meal and a vid or play, volunteer work Monday afternoons at a local day-care center, her part-time job at a lady’s boutique on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays.
“She dated once in a while,” Leah added. “But not so much recently, and nothing serious. As I said, Sam was it for her. If she’d been seeing anyone, even very casually, I’d have known about it.”
“Customers in the shop? Men?”
“Sure, she’d tell us about some of the guys who’d come in and throw themselves on her mercy, looking for something for a spouse or girlfriend. Nothing lately, not that she mentioned. Wait.”
Her back went steel straight. “Wait. I remember her saying something about a man she ran into when she was shopping for produce. A couple of weeks ago. Said he looked sort of lost over the tomatoes or something.”
As if to nudge the memory clear, Leah rubbed her temples. “She helped him pick out some vegetables and fruit, that was just like her. She said he was a single father, just moved to New York with his little boy. He was worried about finding good day care, so she told him about Kid Time, that’s the place she volunteers, gave him all the information. Being Lois, she pumped him for personal information. She said he was a good-looking guy, concerned father, looked lonely, and she was hoping he checked out Kid Time so she could maybe fix him up with a woman she knew who worked there. God, what did she say his name was? Ed, Earl, no, no, Al. That’s it.”
“Al,” Eve repeated and felt it hit her gut.
“She said he walked her part of the way home, carried her bags. Said they talked kids for a few blocks. I didn’t pay much attention, it was the kind of thing she did all the time. And knowing Lois, if they talked kids, she talked about hers, about us. She probably said how we got together Sunday afternoons, and how she looked forward to it. About how she knew what it was like to raise kids alone.”
“Did she tell you what he looked like?”
“She just said he was a good-looking boy. That doesn’t mean anything. Damn it! She’d call any guy under forty a boy, so that’s no help.”
Yes, it was, Eve thought. It eliminated Elliot Hawthorne, as her own instincts already had.
“She was a born mother, so if she saw this guy puzzling over tomatoes, she’d have automatically stepped up to give him a hand and talk to him, try to help him out with his problems. Southern,” Leah said on a rise of excitement. “That’s what she said. A good-looking Southern boy.”
“She was a jewel. You know what I’m saying?”
Rico Vincenti, proprietor of the family-run market where Lois Gregg did her weekly shopping, unashamedly wiped his tears with a red bandanna, then stuff
ed it away in the back pocket of khakis that bagged over his skinny butt. He went back to stacking a fresh supply of peaches in his sidewalk bin.
“That’s what I’m hearing,” Eve said. “She came in here regularly.”
“Every Friday. Sometimes she’d come by other times, pick up a couple things, but she was in every Friday morning. Ask me about my family, give me grief about prices—not bitchy,” he said quickly. “Friendly like. Some people they come in here, never say a word to you, but not Mrs. Gregg. I find the bastard . . .” He made an obscene gesture. “Finito.”
“You can leave that part to me. You ever notice anybody hanging around, look like he was watching her?”
“I see somebody bothering one of my customers, even if it ain’t a regular, I move ’em along.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder like an umpire calling out a base runner. “I been here fifteen years. This is my place.”
“There was a man, a couple of weeks ago. She helped him pick out some produce, struck up a conversation.”
“Just like her.” He pulled out the bandanna once more.
“He went out with her, carried her bags. Nice-looking guy, probably under forty.”
“Mrs. Gregg, she was always talking to somebody in here. Let me think.” He raked his hands through his thatch of salt-and-pepper hair, screwed up his narrow face. “Yeah, couple Fridays back, she took this guy under her wing, picked out some nice grapes for him, some tomatoes, head of romaine, radishes, carrots, got a pound of peaches.”
“Can you tell me as much about him as what he bought?”
Vincenti cracked his first smile. “Not so much. She brought him up with her—I always checked Mrs. Gregg out—and she says: ‘Now, Mr. Vincenti, I want you to take good care of my new friend, Al, when he comes in here by himself. He’s got a little boy who needs your best produce.’ I say something like, ‘I got nothing but the best.’ ”
“What did he say?”
“Don’t recall that he did. Smiled a lot. Had on a ball cap, now that I think. And sunshades. This heat, most everybody’s got on a cap and shades.”