In Death 02 - Glory in Death

was with Yvonne Metcalf."
    He lifted a brow. "We're friends, were close at one time."
    "You were lovers."
    "Yes, briefly. Why?"
    "Because she's dead, Roarke."
    His faint smile faded. "Oh Christ, how?"
    "She had her throat cut. Stay available."
    "Is that an official request, Lieutenant?" he asked, and his voice was hard as rock.
    "It has to be. Roarke..." She hesitated. "I'm sorry."
    "So am I." He ended the transmission.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    Eve had no problem listing several connections between Cicely Towers and Yvonne Metcalf. Number one was murder. The method and the perpetrator. They had both been women in the public eye, well respected, and held in great affection. They were successful in their chosen fields and were dedicated to that field. They both had families who loved and who mourned.
    Yet they had worked and played in dramatically different social and professional circles. Yvonne's friends had been artists, actors, and musicians, while Cicely had socialized with law enforcers, businesspeople, and politicians.
    Cicely had been an organized career woman of impeccable taste who had guarded her privacy fiercely.
    Yvonne had been a cheerfully disorganized, borderline messy actor who courted the public eye.
    But someone had known them both well enough and felt strongly enough about both to kill them.
    The only name Eve found in Cicely's tidy address book and Yvonne's disordered one that matched was Roarke.
    For the third time in an hour, Eve ran the lists through her computer, pushing for a connection. A name that clicked with another name, an address, a profession, a personal interest. The few connections that came through were so loosely linked she could barely justify taking the next step toward the interview.
    But she would do it, because the alternative was Roarke. While the computer handled the short list, she took another pass through Yvonne's electronic diary.
    "Why the hell didn't the woman put in names?" Eve muttered. There were times, dates, occasionally initials, often little side notes or symbols of Yvonne's mood.
    1:00 -- lunch at the Crown Room with B. C. Yippee! Don't be late, Yvonne, and wear the green number with the short skirt. He likes prompt women with legs.
    Beauty day at Paradise. Thank God. 10:00. Should try to hit Fitness Palace at 8 for workout. Ugh.
    Fancy lunches, Eve mused. Pampering in the top salon in the city. Sweating a little in a luxury gym. Not a bad life, all in all. Who had wanted to end it? She flipped through to the day of the murder.
    8:00 -- Power breakfast -- little blue suit with matching shoes. LOOK PROFESSIONAL FOR CHRIST'S SAKE, YVONNE!!
    11:00 -- P. P.'s office to discuss contract negotiations. Maybe sneak in some shopping first. SHOE SALE AT SAKS. Hot damn.
    Lunch -- skip dessert. Maybe. Tell cutie he was wonderful in show. No penalty for lying to pals about their acting. God, wasn't he awful? Call home.
    Hit Saks if you missed it earlier.
    5ish. Drinks. Stick with spring water, babe. You talk too much when you're loose. Be bright, sparkle. Push Tune In. $$$. Don't forget photo layout in morning and stay away from that wine. Go home, take a nap.
    Midnight meeting. Could be hot stuff. Wear the red-and-white-striped number, and smile, smile, smile. Bygones are bygones, right? Never close that door. Small world, and so on. What a dumb ass.
    So she'd documented the meeting at midnight. Not who, not where, not what, but she'd wanted to be well dressed for it. Someone she'd known, had a history with. Bygones. A past problem with?
    Lover? Eve mused. She didn't think so. Yvonne hadn't put little hearts around the notation or told herself to be sexy, sexy, sexy. Eve thought she was beginning to understand the woman. Yvonne had been amused at herself, ready for fun, enjoying her lifestyle. And she'd been ambitious.
    Wouldn't she have told herself to smile, smile, smile, for a career opportunity? A part, good press, a new script, an influential fan.
    What would she have said about Roarke? Eve wondered. Most likely she'd have noted him down with a big, bold-faced capital R. She would have put hearts around the date, or dollar signs, or smiles. As she had eighteen months before she died.
    Eve didn't have to look at Yvonne's previous diaries. She remembered perfectly the woman's last notation on Roarke.
    Dinner with R -- 8:30. YUM-YUM. Wear the white satin -- matching teddy. Be prepared, might get lucky. The man's body is awesome -- wish I could figure out his head. Oh well, just