Concealed in Death (In Death 38)

“Okay. I’ll send you a few. If you don’t get to them, just let me know. I’ve got to get going. I contacted Peabody to have her meet me at Rosetta Vega’s. We’ll get the notification done, see if she can add anything.”

“Frester’s booked to speak at the main ballroom of the Roarke Palace Hotel this afternoon.”

Eve leveled a speculative look. “Is that so?”

“Excellent synchronicity, isn’t it? It’s a luncheon speech, the event runs from noon to two. I had no idea. I don’t get into the weeds such as event bookings, but I thought I’d check on what he might be doing while in New York, and there you are. There’s a twenty-minute question-and-answer period after his speech.”

“Handy, as I’ve got some questions. Thanks. I need to go.”

“Send me names for the girls as you get them, would you?”

“Okay.” She laid her hands on his shoulders. “Go buy that solar system.”

“I’ll see if I can squeeze it in.”

“Fair enough.” She kissed him, then strode out to tell a woman any hope she’d clung to was gone.

• • •

Upscale neighborhood, Eve thought as she slid into a street-level slot. Nice, tidy townhomes, condos, glossy shops, and eateries. Dog walkers, nannies, domestics already bustled around on their early duties along with a few people in good coats, good boots on their way to work.

She caught the sugar and yeast scent from a bakery when one of the good coats slipped inside, and the chatter of kids, many in spiffy uniforms, marching along to school.

Then Peabody in her big purple coat and pink cowboy boots, clomping around the corner.

“I think it’s not as cold” was the first thing she said. “Maybe. More like frigid instead of fucking frigid. I don’t think . . .” She paused, sniffed the air like a retriever. “Do you smell that? It’s that bakery. Oh my God, do you smell that? We should—”

“You’re not going in to do a notification and interview with pastry breath.”

“More like pastry ass. I think I gained a couple pounds just standing here smelling that.”

“Then let’s save your ass and get this done.”

Eve walked up to the door of one of the pretty townhomes, rang the bell.

Instead of the usual computer security check, the door opened almost immediately in front of a pretty, attractive woman in a gray suit. “Did you forget your—oh, I’m sorry.” She brushed back her dark curly hair. “I thought you were my daughter. She’s always forgetting something when she leaves for school, so I—sorry,” she said again with another laugh. “How can I help you?”

“Rosetta Delagio.”

“That’s right. Actually, I have to leave for work myself in a few minutes, so—”

“I’m Lieutenant Dallas, and this is Detective Peabody.” Eve took out her badge. “NYPSD.”

The woman looked at the badge, slowly lifted her gaze back to Eve’s face. The easy laughter in her eyes died away, and what replaced it was old grief turned over fresh.

“Oh. Oh, Lupa.” She laid a hand on her heart. “It’s about Lupa, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry to—”

“Please, don’t. Don’t tell me out here. Come in. Please come in. We’ll sit down. I want to get my husband, and we’ll sit down. You’ll tell me what happened to Lupa.”

“All this time.” Rosetta sat in a pretty, family-cluttered living area with her hand in her husband’s.

Juan Delagio wore his winter-weight uniform squared away, his cop shoes polished. He had a striking face of sharply defined angles, set off by deep, dark-hooded eyes.

“I think I knew,” Rosetta began. “I knew because she w

ould never run away, as some thought she had. We loved each other, and for that time, had no one but each other.”