Celebrity in Death

wanted things to be the way they were. I fixed him his favorite brunch! Mandarin orange juice mimosas and hazelnut coffee, eggs Benedict with raspberry French toast.”
    “You went to a lot of trouble.”
    “Everything made by hand, and I set the table with his favorite china.”
    “And he didn’t appreciate it. All the time and effort you went to, just to do something special for him, and he didn’t appreciate it.”
    “I … then I went for a walk. I went for a walk, and when I came back he was dead.”
    “No, Paul. You argued, you hit him. It was like a reflex. You were so mad, so hurt, you just grabbed the skillet and swung out. And then it was too late. So you cleaned up the kitchen, put everything away.” While he lay there, dead on the floor, Eve thought. “You scrubbed the cast-iron skillet.” With his blood staining the bottom. “You made everything neat and tidy again, just the way he liked it.”
    “I didn’t mean to do it! It was an accident.”
    “Okay.”
    “He said he wanted a divorce. I did everything for him. I took care of him. He said I was smothering him, and he was tired of me looking through his things, going through his schedule and calling him all the time. He was tired of it. Of me. I made him brunch, and he wanted a divorce.”
    “Harsh,” Eve commented.

 
    WITH HAVERTOE CHARGED AND BOOKED, THE reports filed, the case closed, Eve couldn’t come up with a single excuse to ditch the dinner with the Hollywood types.
    And she tried.
    She poked her fingers in the active cases of her detectives, hoping to hook an angle that required her immediate and personal attention. When that failed she considered pulling out a cold case at random. But nobody would buy that as an emergency, especially with Peabody breathing down her neck.
    “What are you wearing tonight?” Peabody demanded.
    “I don’t know. Something to cover nakedness.”
    “Long or short?”
    “Long or short what?”
    “The outfit. Short, showing lots of leg. You’ve got all that leg so you can. Or long and sleek because you’re skinny and can pull that off.”
    Eve dawdled over a report Detective Baxter had turned in. Reading it three times was just being thorough. “You’re spending too much time thinking about my body.”
    “Thoughts of your body haunt me night and day. But really, Dallas, are you going sexy or restrained, elegant or snap?”
    “Maybe the restrained sexy snappy elegant. Whatever the hell any of that is.” Taking her sweet time, Eve signed off on Baxter’s report. “And why the hell do you care what I wear?”
    “Because I have two main choices for me, and once I know which direction you’re going, I’ll have a better handle on it. The one really shows the girls off, but if you’re going restrained I don’t think I should put the girls on display. So—”
    Genuinely stumped, Eve swiveled in her chair. “You actually think I’m going to help you decide if you should flaunt your tits at dinner?”
    “Never mind. I’ll ask Mavis.”
    “Good. Now why are you and your famous girls in my office?”
    “Because it’s almost end of shift and you’re trying to stall, looking for a reason you can legitimately skip the party.”
    “I am so.”
    Peabody opened her mouth, then laughed. “Come on, Dallas, it’ll be fun. Nadine will be there, and Mavis and Mira. How often do any of us get to party with celebs?”
    “Hopefully this will be the last time. Take your girls and go home.”
    “Really? We’ve still got ten till end of shift.”
    And the odds of catching something hot in ten weren’t good. “Who’s the boss?” Eve asked her.
    “You are, sir. Thanks! See you tonight.”
    With little choice once Peabody bolted, Eve signed off on another report. Since staring hard at her ’link didn’t cause it to signal that a psycho had just wiped out all the tourists on Fifth Avenue, she gave up and shut it down for the day.
    It was just one evening, she reminded herself on the way down to the garage. The food would probably be good, and Peabody was right, there’d be plenty of people there she knew. It wasn’t as if she’d have to spend the whole time making small talk with strangers.
    But it made her think about the Icoves, the father and son, the respected doctors who had played God in their underground lab. Creating human clones, she thought, dispatching those who weren’t perfect, duplicating others. Educating them, training them, enslaving them.
    Until they’d both been