Deke and Charity Mimoto lived in a pleasant single-family home in White Plains. The old, established neighborhood had weathered the years well, and benefited from the updates and influxes of wealthy young suburbanites. Big, leafy trees and pretty gardens dotted a landscape where the lawns were trimmed, the sidewalks even, and the paint was fresh.
“We’ve been here fifty-three years,” Charity told Eve. “We wanted to put down roots when we started our family, and in a neighborhood where kids had yards to play in. My Deke’s handy, so he’s done a lot of fixing up over the years. A man who can fix a leaky toilet’s as good as a billionaire from where I sit. Is your man handy around the house?” she asked, wagging a finger at Eve’s wedding ring.
She decided it was probably the first time, and the last, she’d actively wonder if Roarke had ever fixed a toilet. “In his way.”
“Deke built the sunroom with his own two hands, and finished off the downstairs so we have a nice, big family room. I’ve lost track of the times he remodeled the kitchen, or one of the baths. We like to keep up.”
“It’s a very nice house, Mrs. Mimoto.” But Eve was more interested in the layout than new countertops.
“A good place to raise children, and a good place when the grands came along, and the greats. We haven’t said anything about all this to the family. Usually most of us know what’s going on with the rest of us, so this isn’t our way.”
“I appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Mimoto. Our concerns are to keep you safe, and to apprehend this man. We’re going to do both today, then get out of your w
ay.”
“Oh now, you haven’t been in our way.” Charity made waving gestures with her hands. “We enjoyed having David and Troy,” she added, obviously pleased to be on a first-name basis with Baxter and Trueheart. “Such nice young men. Have a muffin,” she invited, holding out a cloth-lined bowl to Eve. “I baked them fresh this morning.”
“I—”
“Go on, go on. You could use some meat on your bones.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Mimoto, I’d like to go over with you what we need you to do, and say, where officers will be posted. Your safety is the first priority.”
“You sit right down here. I’ll get us some coffee, and we’ll talk.”
Eve ate the muffin—truly exceptional—drank the coffee—not half bad, considering how spoiled she was—and carefully went over every step of the plan.
With the talk of leaky toilets and baked goods, Eve had concerns the woman didn’t fully understand the risk, the seriousness. The tabletop discussion served the dual purpose of fully informing her bait, and relieving Eve’s mind.
The woman asked the right questions, gave the right answers. However homey she appeared in her shiny kitchen with its display board crammed with children’s drawings, she owned a shrewd mind and a steel spine.
“Do you have any other questions? Is there anything you’re uncomfortable with or uneasy about?”
“You need to stop worrying.” Charity patted Eve’s hand. “You’re a worrier like my Serenity. I can see it. Worrying gives you tension headaches and bad digestion.”
“Mrs. Mimoto, I have to ask you. Aren’t you afraid?”
“Why should I be afraid when I’ve got the police all through the house?” Those soothing and exotic eyes peered out of the old face. “Are you going to let him hurt me?”
“No, ma’am, I promise you he won’t hurt you. But we are asking you to open your door to a murderer. And I also have to tell you, again, we could take him outside. We have enough for an arrest.”
“But it’s going to help slam-dunk your case down the road if you take him inside, and after he tries to drug me. I’ve got a judge for a daughter, and plenty of lawyers in the family. Cops, too. I know what’s what.” She leaned forward. “Do you know what I want, honey? I want you to take that little fucker down, and take him hard, and I want a piece of it.”
Eve’s lips twitched at the sound of the expletive in the pretty suburban kitchen.
“That’s what we’ll do.”
“Good. How about another muffin?”
“No, really.” Eve pushed back from the table just as MacMasters came in.
“Sorry to interrupt. Mrs. Mimoto, your husband wondered if you could give him a hand with something when you had a minute.”
“Can’t find his lucky socks.” She shook her head as she got to her feet. “Seventy years, and he can never put his hand on them. You help yourself to that coffee.” As she walked by MacMasters, she patted a hand on his arm. “We’ll get him today, and your girl can rest easy.”
MacMasters’s face tightened as he stared at the floor.
“That’s part of it,” Eve said as she crossed to him. “It’s what we do. The best we can do. I need to ask you something, Jonah, and I need to hear the truth. Is getting him going to be enough?”