Eve pulled in behind it. “That matches the basic description of the car the wit saw at Pettigrew’s. Run the tags,” Eve told Peabody as they got out.
“It’s registered to Bondita Rothchild.”
“Might be interesting.” Eve walked to the door, pushed the buzzer.
The woman who answered was tall, slim, and blond. Not Marcella, Eve thought, but by the family resemblance, related.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.” Eve offered her badge.
“Yes, we’re expecting you. I’m Rozelle, Marci’s sister. This is just horrible. Marci’s a wreck. Claudia—that’s our friend who was with us—is back making her tea because Marci won’t take a soother. I just … I’m sorry, I guess I’m a wreck, too. Come inside.”
The entrance opened into a generous living space where someone had turned on lights and lamps to combat the gloom from the insistent drizzle outside. They’d lowered the privacy shades as well.
Marcella sat on a sofa, a chocolate-brown throw over her lap, and cuddled close to her mother.
Bondita, spotting Eve and Peabody, wrapped a protective arm around her daughter. They all looked exhausted.
Another blonde, this one tall and curvy in black skin pants and a flowy white shirt, hurried from the back with a tray.
“Our friend, Claudia Johannsen. These are the police, Claudia. Go ahead and take Marci her tea.
“You drink this now, Marce.” She used the firm tone of a veteran schoolteacher, a determined mother, or a sturdy nurse. “We’re all here for you. You drink some tea, too, Bondi. And you come sit down and have yours, Roz. Officers, can I make you some tea?”
“Lieutenant, Detective,” Eve corrected. “No, thanks. Ms. Horowitz—”
“Since that’s two of us here, why don’t you go with first names,” Rozelle suggested. “It’s just easier.”
“All right. Marcella, we’re very sorry for your loss. We understand this is a difficult time for you.”
“Difficult? Difficult?” Her voice pitched up three registers on the three syllables. “Is that how you think it is for me? The man I love is dead!”
Okay, Eve thought, it’s going to be one of those.
Before she could continue, Sympathetic Peabody shifted into gear. “Marcella, we want to help. We’re here to do everything we can to find out who did this to the man you love. As hard as it must be for you, we know you want us to find those answers, so we need your help. Thaddeus needs your help.”
“Thaddeus!” Marcella wailed it.
“Stop now.” Bondita hugged her, rocked her. “Stop now, Marcella, or I’ll have to make you take a soother.”
“Nothing could make me stop feeling. How could this happen? How could this happen to Thad?”
“It’s our job to find out,” Eve told her. “There are questions we need to ask you so we can go out and do that job.”
“You talk to the police now, Marce,” Claudia insisted. “We’re here with you.”
“I’m sorry, sit down, both of you.” Bondita waved a hand. “My husband and I managed to raise a son and two daughters without ever having the police at the door. None of us are behaving well.”
“I want to know what happened to Thad.” Once again Marcella’s voice rose up, pitch by pitch. “I deserve to know!”
“Mr. Pettigrew left the residence you share with him last night at approximately nine P.M.”
“He told me he was staying in,” Marcella interrupted.
“That may be, but he left the residence at that time in the company of an as yet unknown female.”
Her slumping shoulders shot back, stiffened. “He did not!”
Eve just pushed on. “He left with said unknown female, and with her, got into what is described as a dark town car.”