She sighed and began to rub her cheek against the dog's fur. "He was romantic. After he was divorced we dated and he took me to really nice places and never tried anything funny then either. Finally I had to try something funny because he was just so cute and cuddly and handsome. And after that, he asked me to marry him."
"Did his first wife resent that?"
"Probably. Who wouldn't resent not having Boney for their own sweetie? But she was always very nice, and Boney never said anything bad about her."
"And his children."
"Well, I don't think they liked me at first. But Boney said they'd come to love me because he did. And we never had a fight or anything."
* * *
"Big, happy family," Eve repeated after another ten minutes with Bambi. "Everyone likes everybody and Pettibone is the original nice guy."
"Wife's a dink," Peabody offered.
"The dink was still smart enough to hook a rich husband. Could be smart enough to put a little something extra in his birthday bubbly." But she paused a moment at the top of the stairs to let various options play out in her mind.
"Have to be really smart, and have nerves of iron to pull it off when she's standing right next to him in front of a room full of well-wishers and witnesses. We'll dig into her background a bit, see how much of that sugar plum bit is real and how much is an act. Anybody who lives in that much pink goes to the top of my short list."
"I thought it was kind of pretty, in an 'I love being a girl' sort of way."
"Sometimes you scare me, Peabody. Do a standard run on her to start. Bambi," she added as she started down. "People who name their kid Bambi must know she's going to grow up a dink. Now we get to play with Mr. Markie. Who comes up with this shit?"
"We've got him and the catering staff in the kitchen area."
"Good. Let's find out who gave Pettibone the champagne and wished him happy birthday."
As she started across the main floor to the kitchen, McNab jogged up behind her. "Dallas? ME's here. Concurs with the MTs and the doc on-scene about the appearance of poisoning. Can't call it officially until they get the stiff back to the body shop and run some dead tests."
"Thanks for that colorful report, Detective. Relay to the ME that I want confirmation of cause of death ASAP. Go ahead and take a look at the incomings and outgoings on the house 'links for the last twenty-four hours, just in case someone got sloppy."
"I'm on it." He managed to give Peabody a quick pat on the ass before splitting off.
"Having your parents bunking with you should put the kibosh on playing grab-ass with McNab for the next little while."
"Oh, they're not staying at my place. Said it was too small and they didn't want to crowd me. Couldn't change their minds. They'll just stay in their camper. I told them they're really not supposed to. City ordinances and stuff, but they just patted me on the head."
"Get them into a hotel, Peabody, before some uniform cites them."
"I'll work on it soon as we get back."
They turned into the kitchen. It was big, done in blinding whites and sparkling silver. And at the moment, chaos reigned. Food in various stages of preparation was spread all over the counters. Dishes were stacked in towers, glassware in pyramids. Eve counted eight uniformed staff jammed into an eating nook and chattering away with the nervous energy crime scenes often brought out in witnesses.
An enormous urn of coffee was being put to use by both cops and servers. One of her own uniforms was helping himself to a tray of fancy finger food and another was already hitting the dessert cart.
It only took her presence to have the room falling into stillness, and silence.
"Officers, if you can manage to tear yourselves away from the all-you-can-eat buffet, take posts outside the doors of both kitchen exits. As cause of death has not yet been officially called, I'll remind you that you're stuffing evidence in your faces. If necessary, I'll have you both cut open so that evidence can be removed."
"There's nothing wrong with my food." A man stepped forward as the two uniforms rushed out. He was short, homely, with an olive complexion. His head was shaved and gleamed as smooth as an ice floe. He wore a white butcher's apron over a formal black suit.
"You'd be Markie?"
"Mr. Markie," he said with cold dignity. "I demand to know what's going on. No one will tell us anything, just that we're required to stay in here. If you're in charge—"
"I'm in charge. Lieutenant Dallas, and what's going on is Walter Pettibone's dead and I'm here to find out how and why."
"Well, Lieutenant Dallas, I can tell you that Mr. Pettibone didn't meet his demise through any of my dishes. I won't have any rumors regarding my food and my business bandied about. My reputation is unimpeachable."