Calculated in Death

the lobby. “Another asshole.”
    “The world’s full of them. You’d never know by looking or listening to the two of them that they’re related.”
    “Alexander doesn’t consider them related. He considers Pope a pain in the ass when he’s not considering him a go-fer. And Pope knows it. Alexander’s playing the victim card, and hard—and that buzzes for me. And Pope’s just a little too self-effacing.”
    She replayed the interview in her head as they crossed the lobby. “Alexander plays the big deal, but his ’link didn’t ring while we were in there, and you can bet your ass he didn’t order a hold on communications for us. Pope’s pocket ’link hummed two different times.”
    “I didn’t notice. I did notice how clear Alexander’s desk was. No work on it.”
    “I bet Pope does most of the down-and-dirty work, the inside work, while the other plays big-shot. Doing the down-and-dirty gives you a lot of access.”
    “He doesn’t seem the type to steal, cheat, and kill.”
    “A lot of people who steal, cheat, and kill don’t, Peabody. That’s why they steal, cheat, and kill until we catch them. Let’s hit the next.”
    •   •   •
    T he offices of Your Space spread over a two-level downtown lot. Eve figured a family of four could live there comfortably, particularly as the design reflected a home rather than a work space.
    Seating ranged around a sparkling fireplace topped with a mantel holding candlesticks and flowers. A second seating area aimed toward the wide window. In this second space a woman demonstrated something on a tablet to a young couple who appeared to be engrossed.
    Rather than security, assistants, or hard-eyed admins, one of the four founders of the firm greeted Eve and Peabody personally.
    “Latisha Vance.” The tall, ebony-skinned knockout offered a brisk handshake. “Angie’s with some new clients, but I have some time. We can talk upstairs if you like. Can I get you anything? We have some fresh cookies. They’re deadly.”
    “No, thanks,” Eve said over Peabody’s quiet moan. “Are your other partners available?”
    “Both Holly and Clare are out on jobs. I expect both of them back before long.” She led them up floating stairs painted candy pink. “You’re here about the woman who was killed, Marta Dickenson.”
    “That’s right.”
    “I talked to Mr. Gibbons that day, and he explained about the accident, and assured me it wouldn’t cause any delays.”
    “Had you ever met or spoken to Mrs. Dickenson?”
    “Yes.” Latisha walked them past a bedroom and into a spiffy, organized office where a woman worked at a computer station topped with shelves. “I’m sorry, Kassy, I need the room.”
    “No problem. I’ll pick it up in the sitting room.”
    Latisha sat on a curvy gray chair as the woman slipped out. “Kassy’s our office manager. Yes, I met Marta. The four of us went into the Brewer offices before we hired them. We like to get a feel for things. We liked the feel there, quite a bit. We liked Marta, and hoped she’d be able to take on our account, but at that time she didn’t have room for us. Jim’s great though, and we’re hoping he makes a full recovery, and quickly. But Mart . . . I just talked to her a week ago.”
    “About?”
    “Her hiring us.”
    “For?”
    “We organize. When Angie and I started, just the two of us, we focused on private homes—rooms, really. Going in, designing a system, helping the client purge, and that can be a challenge, redesigning the space if necessary, and so on. It was the Angie and Tisha show for about six months, then Holly and I started talking at the gym.”
    Latisha shifted, crossed well-toned legs. “She worked for an interior designer, and was considering going out on her own. Instead, she came in with us. Angie brought in Clare who was, in fact, an office manager. She opened us up to helping organize, reorganize, redesign office spaces. This space was Clare’s idea.”
    She gestured to indicate the loft. “Offices don’t have to look like offices to be productive and efficient, and we’d also be able to show clients what can be done, how much productivity and comfort they can pack into their space without clutter.
    “Sorry, that was off topic.”
    “No, it’s good to know.”
    “Marta contacted me. She wanted to surprise her husband, redo his home office space and their bedroom. We’d set up an appointment to go look at the site. Angie and I were to meet her there