“You hit back?”
“Enough to keep the rhythm up, not enough to get me a reprimand should there be an official inquiry. Maybe you could stomp off to the elevator now. It’s getting hard to keep looking naive and subservient.”
Eve obliged and timed it so Peabody barely had time to nip in with her before the doors shut. “I thought that was a good touch.”
“Good thing my butt isn’t any bigger than it already is. He’s shifting his story for the night of the Wooton murder. Says he and Pepper are just business partners now, and keeping up the pretext of otherwise so there isn’t any negative publicity through the run of the play. Still says he was at home all night, though, and home all Sunday morning. Alone. The original Lonely Guy.”
“What kind of moronic female falls for that crap?” Eve wondered.
“Lots, I guess, depending on the delivery.” She moved her shoulders. “His wasn’t bad, actually. But it was too quick, and too obvious. Anyhow, he claims he went to the Gold Key on Madison about one on Sunday. I say he’s twinking at least one of those bimbos on the side. He’s not the type for an LC. Isn’t going to pay for it when he can bullshit and brag his way into it. And I’d say it’d be news to Pepper that they’re just business partners now. I’d also say he doesn’t think much of women as a species.”
Go, Peabody, Eve thought, and leaned back against the elevator wall as her aide ran it through. “Thinks about them, because he probably imagines fucking any woman who’s remotely attractive. But he doesn’t like them. He kept calling you that woman. Never referred to you by name or rank. And there was a lot of passion in the way he said it.”
“Good job.”
“I don’t know that I found out anything really useful. Except now that I think about it, I can see him doing the murders.”
“You found out he’s lying to his lover, and if he isn’t actively cheating—which he likely is—he’s open to cheating. You found out that he had the opportunity to commit both murders. So he’s a liar and a cheat. Doesn’t make him a murderer, but he’s a liar and a cheat with opportunity, with access to the stationery found at both crime scenes, and that he has an attitude toward women. That’s not bad for the day.”
Carmichael Smith was in the studio—in New L.A.—so she gave him a pass for the day. She found Niles Renquist so heavily wrapped in red tape that she decided to do an end run around him and aim for his wife.
The Renquists’ New York home wasn’t Breen’s upwardly mobile family neighborhood, or Carmichael’s trendy loft. It was all dignity and restrained grace in faded brick and tall windows.
The entrance hall, where they were admitted with considerable reluctance and disapproval by a uniformed housekeeper who could have given Summerset a run for his money, was done in creams and burgundies and the subtle sheen of religiously polished antiques.
Lilies, white and burgundy in a crystal vase, sat on a long narrow table along the staircase and scented the air. Along with it was an echoing hush she associated with empty houses or churches.
“It’s like a museum,” Peabody said out of the corner of her mouth. “You and Roarke have all this cool, rich people stuff, but it’s different. People live there.”
Before Eve could respond there was the female sound of heels on wood. People lived here, too, Eve thought, but she had a feeling they were a different type altogether.
The woman who walked toward them was as beautiful, as dignified, and as quietly elegant as the home she’d made. Her hair was a soft blonde, carefully coiffed into a short bob that caught the light. Her face was pale and creamy, with a hint of rose on cheeks and lips. This one, Eve thought, never left the house without sunscreen, top to toe. She wore wide-legged pants, killer heels, and a blousy shirt with a faint sheen, all in cream.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” There was a high-toned drift of England in her voice, and the hand she offered was cool. “Pamela Renquist. I’m sorry, but I’m expecting company shortly. If you’d contacted my secretary, I’m sure we could have arranged an appointment at a more convenient time.”
“Then I’ll try to keep the inconvenience short.”
“If this is about the stationery, your time would be of more use speaking with my secretary. She handles the bulk of my correspondence.”
“Did you buy the stationery, Mrs. Renquist?”
“Quite possibly.” Her face never changed, held its mildly pleasant expression as she spoke with the kind of undiluted politeness Eve always found insulting. “I enjoy shopping when in London, but I rarely keep track of every little purchase. We certainly have the paper, so it hardly matters if I bought it myself, or Niles, or one of our assistants made the purchase for us. I was under the impression my husband had discussed this with you.”
“He did. There is considerable repetition and overlap in a homicide investigation. Could you tell me where you and your husband were on the night—”
“We were precisely where Niles has already told you we were on the night of that unfortunate person’s murder.” Her tone became frigid and dismissive. “My husband is a very busy man, Lieutenant, and I know he’s already taken the time to speak with you regarding this matter. I have nothing to add to what he’s already told you, and I’m expecting guests.”
Not so fast, sweetheart. “I haven’t yet spoken to your husband regarding a second murder. I’d like you to tell me where you both were on Sunday, between eight and noon.”
For the first time since the woman had walked down the hall, she looked flustered. It was momentary, just a slight heightening of color on that creamy skin, a slight frown around the rosy mouth. Then it was smooth and pale again.
“I find this very tedious, Lieutenant.”
“Yeah, me, too. But there you go. Sunday, Mrs. Renquist.”
Pamela drew air sharply through her chiseled nostrils. “We have brunch on Sundays at ten-thirty. Prior to that, my husband would have enjoyed a well-deserved hour in our relaxation tank, as he does every Sunday, when schedule permits, between nine and ten. While he was doing so, I would have joined him in our home health center for my own Sunday morning hour of exercise. At eleven-thirty, after brunch, my daughter would have gone with her au pair to a museum, while my husband and I prepared to go to the club for a doubles match with friends. Is that detailed enough, Lieutenant?”
She said lieutenant as another woman might have said nosy, insolent bitch. Eve had to give her credit for it. “You and your husband were home on Sunday from eight until noon.”