Echoes in Death (In Death 44)

“That place is like a vault.” Gula shook her head. “Nothing’s ever safe, is it? Oh, that poor girl. How bad is she hurt?”

“She’ll be all right” was all Eve would say. “Can you both tell us what time you left the Strazza residence, and where you went? We need to establish a timeline.”

“We served the croquembouche just about ten, ten-fifteen, wasn’t it?” Gula rubbed her temple. “With the fancy mints, coffee, and liqueur. Jacko and I left about ten-thirty and went on home.”

“Together?”

“We’ve been married twenty-six years, so we go home together,” Jacko told Eve. “We left Xena, our daughter, and Hugh, he’s our nephew, in charge. She’s out front, you can talk to her, but she said this morning she and Hugh left about eleven—more like eleven-fifteen—turned it over to the house droids. Still guests there when they left, she said.”

“We’re going to need a list of your employees who worked that party.”

“Sure, sure.” Shaking his head, Jacko began to roll the sheet of covered dough into a tight roll. “But I can tell you nobody who works for us would hurt anybody.”

“That’s the truth.” Gula patted his arm. “But I’ll get you a list.”

“We work in a lot of high-end homes and event areas,” Jacko continued and, taking a lethal-looking knife, cut the roll into slices.

The girl who’d been filling paper cups brought him a saucepan. “Perfect timing,” she said.

“Thanks, sweetie. She didn’t work the party,” he added when she had walked away, then he poured something that smelled obscenely delicious into a pan. “I have to trust who works for me, so I have to know them. A lot who do are family. And nobody works an event for Jacko’s until they’re trained. I’ve been doing this for better than fifteen years. Never had an employee so much as take a napkin from a client. Nobody who works for me and Gula is going to hurt somebody.”

“They might have impressions, might have seen something, someone. You might have,” Eve added.

“I stick to the kitchen mostly.” He covered the pan with a cloth.

“And you know everyone who worked the event? Every server, every cook, every valet.”

“Every one. Know a lot on the guest list, too. Not all, but more than a few. Professionally. Dr. Hannity snuck back into the kitchen. We did his daughter’s wedding a couple years back. He had a beer and some samples. And Mrs. Wyndel came back for a bit. We do all her catering. She wanted to talk to me about a party next month—baby shower for her niece. Like that,” he said with a shrug. “Otherwise, I don’t much mingle. Hate parties.”

Eve laughed before she could stop herself. “Me, too. But I figured you’d love them.”

“Like cooking and baking.” He wiped a big hand on his apron. “Might as well make a living doing what you like.”

“I hear that.”

He walked over to another counter, picked up a rack of cooling cinnamon buns. “Have a sample.”

“We’ll buy some on the way out,” Eve told him. “We’re not allowed to … take samples.”

He lowered his brows, jabbed a finger at two of the buns. “These two aren’t for sale. I’m not sure they meet my standards. I’d like an opinion.”

“Dallas, I’m dying here.” Flanked by Jacko’s beetled brows and Peabody’s pleading eyes—and assaulted by the scents—Eve surrendered.

“Fine. Okay.” She picked up a roll, took a bite. And wanted to weep.

“Terrible,” she said over another bite. “I don’t know how you stay in business serving something like this. I ought to confiscate the whole bunch.”

“Batch,” he said, grinning. “I’m going to box these up. You take them with you.”

“Really, we can’t—”

“You can, too.” He said it fiercely, and Eve caught the faint glitter of tears as he grabbed a box. “You do your job, I do mine. I like that girl. I’ve got a girl of my own about the same age. Don’t know what I’d do if somebody put her in the hospital.”

Eve waited a moment. “But you didn’t like him. Anthony Strazza.”

“Didn’t really know him. I worked with her.” Then he shrugged. “Didn’t like him much. He’d give you the cold eye. Some people figure if you feed them or do for them, you’re less. He was like that. She’s not. She was afraid of him.”

“Why do you say that?”