"I do." Suzanna paused, seemed to struggle with herself. "And I can't reveal any of the terms before the official reading, as per my client's instructions when the document was drawn up. My hands are tied here, Lieutenant."
"Your client didn't expect to be murdered."
"Regardless. Believe me, Lieutenant, I'm already skimming corners by insisting the reading be held tonight."
Eve considered a moment. "What time tonight?"
"Eight o'clock."
"Any legal reason why I can't be there?"
Suzanna lifted her ornamented eyebrow. "No, not if Mr. and Mrs. Branson clear it. I'll speak to them about it, get back to you."
"Good. I'm going out in the field, but I'll get the message. Just one more thing. Did you know Lisbeth Cooke?"
"Very well. I often socialized with her and J. C."
"Opinion?"
"She's ambitious, determined, possessive. And hot-tempered."
Eve nodded. "You didn't like her."
"On the contrary, I liked her very much. I admire a woman who knows what she wants, gets it, and hangs on to it. She made him happy," she added and pressed her lips together as tears swam into her eyes. "I'll get back to you," she said and broke transmission.
"Everybody loved J. C.," Eve murmured, then, shaking her head, began to gather her things. Her communicator beeped before she got to the door. She tugged it out. "Dallas."
"Lieutenant."
"Peabody. I figured you'd have your brother out on the town."
"Try vice versa." On-screen, Peabody rolled her eyes. "I've already been to the top of the Empire State Building, taken the glide around the Silver Palace twice, gawked at skaters in Rockefeller Center—" Not under the tortures of hell would she admit she'd strapped on skates herself. "And I walked my feet off in two museums. He's dying to do the Fly Over Manhattan tour. It leaves in fifteen."
"Tons of fun," Eve commented as she made her way to the elevator that would take her down to her car.
"Zeke's never been to the city before. I've had to stop him from talking to every LC and beggar on the street. Jesus, Dallas, he wanted to play three-card monte."
Eve grinned. "Good thing his sister's a cop."
"You're telling me." Then she sighed. "Look, this probably doesn't mean anything, but it's weird, and I thought I should let you know."
Eve stepped out of the elevator into the garage. "What?"
"You know how Zeke said he came out because he had a commission? Building custom cabinets and stuff? Well, it turns out his commission is from B. Donald Branson."
"Branson?" Eve pulled up short. "Branson hired your brother?"
"Yeah." Peabody studied Eve out of unhappy eyes. "What are the odds?"
"Low," Eve murmured. "Pretty low. How'd Branson hear about Zeke?"
"Mrs. Branson, actually. She was out in Arizona at some spa and was shopping, saw his work in one of the artists' co-ops. Zeke does a lot of custom work, built-ins, furniture. He's really good. She asked about the craftsman, and they put her in touch with Zeke. One thing led to another, and here he is."
"It sounds normal, logical." She slipped into her car. "Has he been in touch with them since he got in?"
"He's calling now. Their name just came up, and I told him. He thought he should call Mrs. Branson and see if she wanted to put off the work."
"Okay. Don't worry about it, Peabody. But let me know how they handle it. And if he hasn't already spilled it about having a cop for a sister, tell him to keep that little bit of data to himself."