Not so far from an alley in Chinatown geographically, but worlds away in every other form. No LCs on the stroll here, no glide-carts on the corners. High maintenance and low crime.
She circled around the walk and up to the main entrance on the second level.
Security panel, palm plate, and a retinal scan. A very careful man. She engaged the panel and frowned at the music that soared out. A lot of strings and keyboard around a creamy male voice.
“ ‘Love Lights the World,’ ” Peabody identified. “It’s sort of his signature song.”
“It’s got more calories than your doughnut.”
WELCOME, the computer said in polite, female tones. WE HOPE YOU’RE HAVING A WONDERFUL DAY. PLEASE STATE YOUR NAME AND YOUR BUSINESS.
“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.” She lifted her badge for a scan. “Police business. I’ve got an appointment with Mr. Smith this morning.”
ONE MOMENT, PLEASE . . . THANK YOU, LIEUTENANT. MR. SMITH IS EXPECTING YOU. YOU’RE CLEARED.
Almost immediately the door was opened by a dark-skinned woman in snowy white. There was more music here, quietly dripping its sweetness in the air.
“Good morning. Thank you for being prompt. Please come in, make yourself at home in the living area. Carmichael will be right with you.”
She glided, Eve thought, like a woman on rollers instead of feet, as she ushered them into a large room with blond walls. There was a mood screen taking up one of those walls, with an image of a white boat drifting on a blue sea as calm as a plate of glass. Thick gel cushions were spread over the floor in lieu of actual furniture, and all were in pastels. Tables were long and low, in that same blond tone.
A fuzzy white kitten curled on one of the tables, and blinked emerald eyes at Eve.
“Please relax. I’ll let Carmichael know you’re here.”
Peabody walked over and poked at one of the floor cushions. “I guess you sink right in and it molds to your butt.” Experimentally, she reached back and patted a hand over her ass. “That could be embarrassing.”
“That music is making my teeth ache.” Eve ran her tongue around them, then turned as Carmichael Smith made his entrance.
He was tall, about six three with a well-toned body he was currently showing off in a fluid white vest that left his pecs and abs on display. His pants were black and snug, so he could display his other attributes. His hair was dramatically streaked black and white, and worn back in a queue to leave his face—wide, high-boned, and narrowed to a sharp, pointed chin—unframed.
His eyes were deep, melted chocolate brown, his skin the color of coffee light.
“Ah, Lieutenant Dallas. Or do I call you Mrs. Roarke?”
Eve heard Peabody’s smothered snort, ignored it. “You call me Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Of course, of course.” He strode in, vest streaming, and took the hand she’d yet to offer in both of his. “It’s just that I only made the connection this morning.” He gave her hand an intimate squeeze, then turned his charm on Peabody. “And who might you be?”
“My aide, Officer Peabody. I have some questions, Mr. Smith.”
“More than happy to answer them.” He took Peabody’s hand as he had Eve’s. “Please, please, sit. Li’s bringing us some tea. I have a special morning blend for energy. It’s simply fantastic. Call me Carmichael.”
He lowered smoothly to a peach-colored cushion and took the little cat into his lap. “There now, Snowdrop, did you think Daddy had forgotten you?”
She didn’t want to sit on one of the cushions, nor did she want to remain standing and towering over him. So she sat on the table.
“Can you tell me where you were, early yesterday morning, between midnight and three A.M?”
Like the cat, he blinked. “Well, that sounds very official. Is there some
problem?”
“Yes, the murder of a woman in Chinatown.”
“I don’t understand. Such negative energy.” He breathed deep. “We try to keep a positive flow in this house.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Jacie Wooton found being sliced up a pretty negative experience. Can you verify your whereabouts, Mr. Smith?”