Brotherhood in Death (In Death 42)

“Oh. It’s back in the kitchen, in the storage area. I don’t know how to turn it on. Mrs. Betz, she said Mr. Betz would shut it down while they were gone, and would program it by remote to come back on, freshen the house when they planned to come back.”

“If we can’t get it on, we’ll get someone from EDD. Peabody?”

“Working my way up to his admin. Lower assistants either don’t know or won’t say where he is.”

“Keep on it. Would you show us the droid, Sila?”

“I sure will.”

She started back, out of the entrance hall—with its central koi pond and massive gold chandelier with hundreds of . . .

“Curlicues,” Eve repeated and made Sila smile.

“And folderols and gimcracks. I swear they must’ve used two tons of gold paint and a couple acres of silks and velvets. If they could put a tassel on something, they put six.”

She shook her head as they walked past art—more cavorting cherubs, women in filmy, flowing white robes, men with swords or bows—and all framed in ornate gold frames.

“I took one walk through this place, and named my price as double what I usually charge. Mrs. Betz didn’t so much as blink, so that’s fine for both of us. Lieutenant Dallas, they got themselves his and hers bathrooms off the master. Not unusual, but he’s got a full bar in his. A bar, with stools and everything, and she’s got herself a long divan in pink silk, and a wine friggie. In the bathroom. I mean to say, I don’t know anybody who does much entertaining in the toilet, no matter how fancy it is.”

They passed archways leading to rooms packed with furniture, and with furniture so loaded with pillows (hundreds of tassels) no one could possibly fit their ass on a cushion.

She didn’t know what she’d expected in the kitchen, but bright, bloody red was the signature color.

A half mile of cabinets gleamed red, as did the appliances: the two massive refrigerators, the wall ovens, the cooktop. The counters were a sea of white and the floor a spread of midnight black.

“Horrible, isn’t it? I do for a lot of people, and everybody’s got their own taste and style. But this one? My mama says it takes the cake and two slices of pie with it.”

Sila moved around the center island, took a jog left to a door—red, of course—carved with people in various states of undress gorging themselves from bowls of fruit, from fruit hanging from trees or growing fat on bushes, from fruit clutched in other figures’ hands.

“They keep the droids in here. House droid, and its backup,” Sila said as she gestured. “The vac droid, the scrubber droid, and so on. But this one’s the, well, head droid, you’d say.”

Eve approached the dark-suited droid. Tall, slim, dignified, with some whiffs of Summerset to her eye. He’d been designed with dark hair winged with silver, thin lips, and edgy cheekbones.

Eve glanced back, saw Peabody nod, hold up a finger, continue the conversation on her ’link. So Eve stepped in, angled her head, and started searching for the manual power up.

It pleased her when she found it, under the left wing of hair.

The droid made a quiet hum, then the pale blue eyes jittered, blinked, focused.

“Good morning,” it said in the same fruity Brit as the intercom comp. “I am called Stevens. I’m afraid I’m not programmed to assist you today without the authorization of Mr. or Mrs. Betz.”

Eve took out her badge. “Scan and verify. I’m here on police business. I need information. You can give me that information or I’ll have you taken into Central where EDD will extract said information.”

“One moment.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Your identification is verified. Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Is there a police emergency?”

“Let’s hope not.”

“Dallas.”

Eve pointed at the droid to signal wait, turned to Peabody.

“His admin says he’s expected in this morning. He plans to join his wife, but didn’t leave with her. She left yesterday morning, and as of now, his plans are to leave tomorrow or the day after.”

Eve turned back to the droid. “When did Mr. Betz leave the premises?”