Golden in Death (In Death 50)

“Yes, sir. And the cam had a glitch at twenty-one-fifty-eight until twenty-three-oh-two.”

“An idiot would call that a coincidence.”

“Yes, sir. Officer Carmichael, who is not an idiot, has requested EDD examine the security camera and feed at this depository. However, if the killer proves to be an idiot, she used her credit account, via her ’link, to pay for the overnight shipping. Said payment was charged to the account of a Brendina A. Coffman, age eighty-one, apartment 1A, 38 Bleecker Street.”

“We’ll check her out now. Good work, Shelby.”

Peabody didn’t have time to grab the chicken stick before Eve wheeled sharp around a corner to change direction.

“Get a warrant,” Eve ordered Peabody. “We need to look at Coffman’s credit history.”

“Brendina Coffman.” Peabody read off her PPC as Eve fought her way to Bleecker. “Married to Roscoe Coffman for fifty-eight years, lived at the current address for thirty-one years. A retired bookkeeper who worked for Loames and Gardner for—wow—fifty-nine years. No criminal in the last half century or so, but a couple of dings in her twenties. Disorderly conduct and simple assault. They have three offspring—male, female, male, ages fifty-six, fifty-three, and forty-eight. Six grandchildren from ages twenty-one to ten.”

“Start running the rest of them,” Eve ordered. “It’s not going to be an idiot,” she muttered. “We don’t have that kind of luck. But run them.”

“Okay, well, the oldest offspring is Rabbi Miles Coffman of Shalom Temple, married to Rebekka Greene Coffman for twenty-one years—and she teaches at the Hebrew school attached to the temple. They have three of the kids—twenty, eighteen, and sixteen, female, male, and male, respectively—nothing flagged on the kids, no criminal on the parents.”

With no available parking in sight, Eve double-parked, causing much annoyance on Bleecker. Ignoring it, she flipped up her On Duty light.

“Keep going,” Eve said as she got out, studied the sturdy old residential building. A triple-decker of faded brick, no graffiti, clean windows, some of them open to the cool spring evening.

“Marion Coffman Black, married to Francis Xavior Black, twenty-three years—no, twenty-four as of today; happy anniversary—is currently employed, as she has been for twenty years, as bookkeeper in the same firm as her mother was. Couple dings in her twenties for illegal protests, nothing since. Son, twenty-one, a student at Notre Dame, daughter, age nineteen, also at Notre Dame.”

“Hold that thought,” Eve advised as they approached the gray door of the entrance to 1A.

Decent security, she noted, but nothing fancy. She pressed the buzzer.

The woman who answered looked pretty good for eighty-one. She had a bubble of ink-black hair Eve figured wouldn’t move in a hurricane, lips freshly dyed stop-sign red, rosy cheeks, and eyes heavily shadowed and lashed.

She wore a deep blue cocktail dress with a high neck, long sleeves, and gave Eve and Peabody a frowning once-over from nut-brown eyes.

“We’re not buying.”

“Not selling,” Eve said, and held up her badge.

Brendina’s face went sheet white under the rosy. “Joshua!”

“No, ma’am.” Peabody spoke quickly. “It’s not about your son. Mrs. Coffman’s son Joshua’s on the job,” Peabody told Eve. “It’s not about Sergeant Coffman, ma’am.”

“Okay. Okay. What is it then?”

“If we could come in for a moment,” Eve began.

“We’re leaving—if Roscoe ever finishes primping.”

“We’ll try not to take much of your time.”

With a nod, Brendina stepped back to let them straight into a tidy living area. So tidy, Eve thought, dust motes must run in fear. The furniture was old, like owned since their marriage began, and polished to within an inch of its life. A half dozen fancy pillows smothered the sofa.

A small piano against one wall with family photos crowded over it.

The air smelled of lemon.

“Is that your needlepoint, ma’am?” A craftsman to the bone, Peabody admired the pillows. “It’s beautiful work.”

“My daughter-in-law got me into it, and now I can’t stop. What is this about?”

“Mrs. Coffman, did you overnight a package to a Kent Abner, for delivery this morning?”