“It is not unusual. Mr. Pettigrew had a light supper from eighteen-twenty-five to eighteen-fifty-eight, and ordered me to shut down after I had cleared the kitchen and dining areas.”
“Was he alone?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Marcella Horowitz?”
“Ms. Horowitz left at ten-eighteen this morning for a three-day visit, with her mother, sister, and a friend, to the Water’s Edge Resort and Spa in Hilton Head.”
“This was planned?”
“Initially Ms. Horowitz was to leave tomorrow, but they were able to secure the accommodations for an additional day.”
“I need her contact information.”
Eve took it. “Who was Mr. Pettigrew expecting tonight?”
“I am not aware of any appointments for this evening or tonight on his calendar.”
“Why are the security cams shut down?”
“I am not aware.”
Droids could be handy, Eve thought, and sometimes not the least damn bit.
“Did Mr. Pettigrew entertain women when Ms. Horowitz was out of town?”
“I am not aware.”
“Did you take a bottle of wine and glasses to the master bedroom before you shut down tonight?”
“I did not.”
Dead end, Eve decided. “You can shut down.”
“I ran the feed back,” Roarke told her when the droid shut down. “I have Pettigrew arriving home, alone, at seventeen-twenty. Prior to that, no activity in or out between the time a woman—I assume Horowitz—left at ten this morning. The droid walked out with her, with a suitcase. It came back minutes later without. Pettigrew left the house just before nine A.M. He and Ms. Horowitz shared a quite steamy goodbye kiss in full view of the camera.”
“Okay. I’m going up to the bedroom. You could check the house ’link, see if he talked to anyone, invited anyone over.”
“I can do that from the bedroom.” Roarke walked up the back steps with her. “He obviously expected someone for a sexual liaison, but from the looks of the bedroom, he died unsatisfied in that area. At least here.”
Eve walked into the master. Lots of pinks and blues, lots of fussy details. A kind of decorative, topless cage held what she assumed would make a mountain of pillows on the bed. The large bed with its slim, gilded posts had been tidily turned down. Just as an impressive variety of sex toys had been tidily arranged on the nightstand.
A gilded table in the sitting area held a bottle of whi
te wine—open, but full—two glasses. The fire—a small circle in the blue wall—simmered low.
A man’s black silk robe lay across the foot of the bed.
“Looks like he had the evening planned out,” she said. “And here’s what it looks like. Someone he expected—or someone he wasn’t expecting but invited in—got him out again without incident. Maybe slipped him something right in the entranceway or up here before he had a chance to pour that wine. But more likely downstairs. Why cart him all the way down and out? Have to get him out, into a vehicle, get him where you can spend a few hours torturing him.”
“Nothing on the house ’link on that today,” Roarke told her. “There’s a confirmation on the car service pickup for Horowitz, and a conversation with her mother—I assume since she calls her Mom. She had the ’link on speaker while she dressed. It’s just chat about spa treatments and so on. Very cheery.”
“Yeah. So whoever killed him knew he’d be alone. Someone he knew or who knew his schedule. Horowitz’s schedule.”
She heard Peabody clomping up the stairs, turned.
“The wit comes off straight,” Peabody began. “He and his wife—two kids—just got this puppy. Adorbs! Anyway, it was his turn to do the walk—house-training deal. He said he was almost walking in his sleep, then the puppy got really agitated, fighting the leash, barking, whining.”