“We’re not here about Mike. Take a breath.”
“You’re sure? It’s not Mike.” She pressed a hand to her swollen belly, swayed a little.
Peabody caught her arm. “Ma’am, let’s go sit down, okay?”
“You’re not grief counselors? You’re not making a notification?”
“Nothing like that at all.” Peabody used her most soothing voice as she gently steered the woman around.
“Sorry. It’s probably hormones. Everything’s hormones right now. It’s just Mike—my fiancé—he’s on the job, so I thought . . . whoosh. Yeah, let’s just sit down.”
“You’re not Cecily Anson,” Eve said as Peabody supported the woman into the door of a living area as smart as the foyer.
“No, she’s my mother. Oh God, did something happen to the Moms?”
“No.” Eve said it firmly before hormones could kick in again. “As far as we know, everyone’s fine. Lillith?”
“Yes.” Lillith levered herself into a big red chair in the middle of the smart space and bold colors. She shoved a hand through a mass of curling brown hair. “Lil, mostly. And I’m sorry for the hysteria. I know better. I’m carrying a cop’s kid, after all.” She smiled—a dazzler—and some color came back into her face. “Mike Bennet—Detective Bennet, out of Central. Maybe you know him.”
“I do.” Judging the crisis had passed, Peabody sat down. “He’s a good guy.”
“He really is.”
“How far along are you?”
“Just hit thirty-one weeks, so I’ve a ways to go.” Lillith folded her hands on the penguin-covered mountain. “I don’t know how.”
Neither did Eve. Could that mountain actually get bigger? How was it possible?
“Is your mother at home?” she asked.
“No. The Moms are in Adelaide—Australia. Mike and I have the third floor, but we’re having some remodeling done due to . . .” She patted the mountain. “So we’re staying here while they’re away. He’s on nights right now. He should be home pretty soon. Sorry, can I get you something?”
“We’re good. How long has Ms. Anson been out of the country?”
“Just over three weeks. They’ll be back next week, plenty of time to fuss over me before the baby comes. What’s this about? I should’ve asked that right away.”
“Do you know if Ms. Anson is working on, or planning to work on, a biography of Jonas Wymann—the economist?”
Lillith frowned, absently rubbed her mountain. “I don’t think so. She’s working on a bio of Marcus Novack right now. That’s why they’re in Australia. He built schools and health centers in the Outback. She sometimes has something else in the works—or in the planning stage—but I never heard her mention that name.”
“Taking a monthlong trip to Australia takes some planning, I guess.” Peabody kept her voice, her smile easy. “They must’ve been planning it for a while.”
“Since last summer, though Mike and I had to convince them to go. I had to swear I wouldn’t go into labor until they got back. Look, I’m steady now, and like I said, engaged to a cop. What’s this Wymann have to do with my mother?”
She looked steady now, Eve judged—considering the penguin mountain. Clear-eyed and calm.
“Mr. Wymann was murdered. He had an appointment on his books for yesterday at four P.M. with your mother.”
Lillith just shook her head. “He couldn’t have. Mom doesn’t make mistakes like that, and honestly I’ve never heard her mention that name. She talks about her projects. I understand why you’re here now. She’d be a suspect, but she’s halfway around the world. You can contact her. I’ll give you the information you need to contact her.”
“I’d appreciate that, but not because she’s a suspect. I believe you,” Eve said. “But her name was on the victim’s appointment book, so someone used it to get to him. You said she talks about her projects. I bet she talked about this trip.”
“To anyone who’d listen. The Moms love to travel. And I follow you. Someone who knew she’d be gone, out of contact, used her name. God. She’ll be so upset.”
Lillith shoved up from the chair, belly first, when the door opened. The way she said “Mike” told Eve the seed of fear planted by the early morning visit had rooted.
“Hey, babe, what’s—” He all but came to attention when he spotted Eve. “Lieutenant.”