Celebrity in Death

bull’s-eye. “What time?”
    “Oh. I don’t know. I’d been drinking, and … after dinner. I know it was after dinner.”
    “Did you watch the gag reel?”
    He stared off into space, brow furrowed. “Sort of. I want to see it again, when I can focus. I just couldn’t. I guess I went up for some air before I watched, then I couldn’t focus anyway. I was falling asleep, so I went out and lay down on the couch.”
    “When you came down, K.T. was still on the roof?”
    “Yeah. She was still there.”
    “Did you see anyone else go up?”
    “I didn’t see anyone go up. I wanted to lie down, but Roundtree wanted us in the theater.” His gaze tracked back to Eve. “Are you sure she’s dead?”
    “Yes, very sure.”
    “It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t feel real. Did you tell me how she died? I can’t remember. Everything’s mixed up.”
    “It appears as if she drowned.”
    “She drowned?” Julian dropped his head in his hands. “She drowned.” He shuddered. “K.T. drowned. Because she was drunk, and she fell in the lap pool?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    “Because she was drunk,” he repeated, “and she fell in the lap pool, and she drowned. God. It’s horrible.”
    He lifted his head when Peabody came back with a glass of water.
    “Thanks.” He laid a hand over Peabody’s. “I wish this hadn’t happened. I wish she’d never gone up on the roof. She wouldn’t let herself be happy. Now she never will be.”
    She had Peabody take him out, and sat where she was a moment, sorting through her thoughts. Roarke shifted chairs to sit across from her.
    Odd, she thought, really odd to have him in the same chair that Julian just vacated. Odd how clearly she could see the differences between them. The body language, the clarity of eye, the stillness—and the ease of being still.
    “He’s a bit of a gobdaw, isn’t he?”
    “I couldn’t say. What the hell is a gobdaw?”
    “Slow-witted. I don’t think it’s just the drink or the abrupt sobering.”
    “Not entirely. Gobdaw.” She shook her head at the term. “Even gob-daws kill.”
    “He strikes me as more the harmless sort.”
    “Even them. But he’s the only one, so far, who’s admitted to being up there, with her. Could be the gobdaw in him, or the harmless. Or just honest innocence. He goes up, thinks, ‘Hell, I’m not dealing with her again,’ staggers back down. Someone else goes up and does the deal with her. Or she stumbled on her stilts and deals with herself.”
    “Roundtree finally talked Connie into taking a soother and going to bed,” Peabody announced as she came back in.
    “Probably a good thing,” Eve decided. “I don’t need her—or him—anymore tonight.”
    “What do you need?” Roarke asked her.
    “To go home, I guess, and let this work through in my head. It’s rare to interview so many witnesses/suspects in one lump. We’re witnesses, too, and right now I feel like a lousy one.”
    “Because you can’t zero in on the killer—if indeed there is a killer—almost before the body reaches the morgue?”
    “We were right here.”
    “I keep going over and over it.” Peabody blew out a breath. “Asking myself did I see, even sense, somebody sneaking out, sneaking in. But I was so into the show. It was funny and so iced. I remember different people calling out some remark, but can’t pinpoint the timing. Mostly it was just a lot of laughing or good-natured groaning. I’ve got nothing.”
    “We’ll sort it out.” Eve got to her feet, wobbled a little. “I forgot I had these damn things on.” She scowled down at her shoes. “I’m going to make sure the sweepers blocked off the roof access.”
    “They did,” Peabody assured her. “I already checked.”
    “Then let’s get out of here.”
    “Ride with us,” Roarke invited. “The car can take you downtown once it drops us home.”
    “Oh, boy, thanks. Limo ride! You know, if you take out the chunk where there’s a dead body and a couple hours of interviews, this was a mag evening.”
    E ve stripped off the shoes the minute she stepped in the house. And winced. “Why do they hurt more when I take them off than when I have them on? Harris probably did a header into the pool on purpose because her feet were already killing her.”
    Roarke scooped her off her aching feet. “You earned a ride.”
    “I’ll take it,” she decided as he was already carrying her up the stairs. “You know it’s about fifty-fifty, murder or accidental