Secrets in Death (In Death 45)

“Very sly.”

“I’ll take it,” she said as he pulled up at a dignified old building.

Its redbrick rose unmarred, its windows tall and screened. It stood on its corner quietly, its wide glass entrance doors unmanned.

Until they stopped the DLE at the curb.

The doorman wore unembellished black, with a cap over his square, sober face.

As Roarke stepped out of the car, the doorman nodded and said, “Sir. How can I assist you?”

Before Eve could pull out her badge, make any demand, Roarke spoke smoothly. “We’re here to see Missy Lee Durante. We’re expected.”

“Of course.”

As he stepped back to open the door, Eve noted the doorman discreetly checking a memo book he eased from his pocket.

The lobby was as dignified and understated as the exterior, with a wide, well-lit expanse of black-grained white marble floor and soft gray walls.

Lobby security also wore unembellished black, sans cap.

“Mr. Roarke and Lieutenant Dallas for three five three.”

“Of course.” Security left the desk to lead them to a trio of elevators, swiped them on. “Three five three,” she said. “Enjoy your visit.”

The doors closed silently.

“You didn’t mention it’s your building.”

“I didn’t realize it until we pulled up. I don’t carry the address of every property in my head.”

“It’s a lot different than Nadine’s.”

“Variety is essential to a vibrant city, I think. This is early twentieth century, and though it took some ugly knocks during the Urbans, it survived well intact. A great deal of the interior is original, and what couldn’t be saved or preserved was replaced.”

“How long have you had it?”

“About six years, I think. Might be seven.” He glanced around the car, at the subtle sheen of the walls. “The staff keeps it well maintained.”

The car opened to a central area with a long glossy table holding white roses in a clear vase bisecting hallways to the right and left. They went left, to the corner unit, pressed the buzzer.

Eve knew the man who answered could buy a legal brew, as she’d scanned his data when reviewing Missy Lee. But he looked about sixteen with long, shaggy blond hair, a pretty-boy face highlighted by bold green eyes.

“Hey,” he said, sticking out a hand. “I’m Marshall, nice to meetcha. Love the vid, gotta read the book. Come on in.”

He held the door wide into a living area comprised of a mix-match of furnishings and decors, colors and carelessness. If she subtracted most of the space, the views, and the rest of the apartment, it wasn’t much different from her own first apartment in New York.

Missy Lee, in floral skin pants and a long blue sweater, sat on a lumpy sofa beside a suited man with black hair touched with silver wings.

He looked like a lawyer, Eve thought, while the others looked like a couple of attractive teenagers.

“Got brew,” Marshall said. “Got wine.”

“You can’t call that bug juice wine, Marsh.”

He just grinned at Missy Lee. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, mi casa and all that.” So saying, he grabbed a coat from the back of a chair that wobbled a little as he brushed against it. He pulled it on, then an earflap cap, wound an enormous scarf around his neck.

“Cha.”