In Death 06 - Vengeance in Death

the pond sized coffee table.
    The fruit had been riffled through, the wine opened. Jennie had had a few moments to enjoy the luxury, Eve thought, before she'd been lured away to death.
    As far as Eve could see, nothing else had been disturbed. The entertainment and communication center was still discreetly tucked behind a silk screen of tropical birds, and the mood screen covering most of one wall was blank.
    "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve and Peabody, Officer Delia commencing search of victim O'Leary's suite in Palace Hotel. We'll start in the bedroom, Peabody."
    Eve crossed over and entered a room where the sunlight filled a trio of windows and the peacock blue spread on a huge platform bed was neatly turned down for the night. Gold-foiled mints rested on plump pillows.
    "Make a note to track down the maid who was on duty last night for this room. See what she touched, what she noticed." As she spoke, Eve moved to the closet. Inside were three blouses, two pair of slacks, one day dress in plain blue cotton, and a cocktail suit in cream of an inexpensive fabric blend. Two pair of shoes were neatly lined beneath.
    Routinely Eve checked the pockets, the inside of the shoes, ran a hand over the top shelf. "Nothing here. Dresser drawers?''
    "Underwear, hose, a cotton nightgown, and a small black evening bag, beaded."
    "She brought her best party dress." Eve brushed her hand over the flounced hem of the cocktail suit. "And never got the chance to wear it. She took the time to unpack -- single suitcase in closet -- brought enough clothes for three or four days. Jewelry?"
    "I haven't found any so far."
    "She might have carried it with her. She'd have had something special for her evening wear. Run her 'link for incoming and outgoing. I'll check the bath."
    The bath offered a jet tub big enough to party in. A bottle of the hotel's complimentary bath foam sat on the lip. So she'd used the tub, Eve mused. It would have been hard to resist, she imagined, and Jennie had been waiting for contact.
    Nervous? Eve wondered. Yes, she'd have been a little nervous. She hadn't seen Roarke for some time. She'd have worried about how she'd changed, aged, what he would see when they met again.
    A woman would always worry about what a man like Roarke saw when he looked at her. They'd been lovers, she mused, studying the tidily arranged toiletries and cosmetics on the shell pink counter. Jennie would remember the way he'd touched her, the way he'd tasted. A woman wouldn't forget the power of a lover like Roarke.
    And if she'd been human she would have wondered -- hoped that he would touch her again. Had she submerged herself in that fragrant, frothy water imagining that?
    Of course she had.
    They'd been friends as well. Sharing laughs, perhaps secrets and dreams. They'd been young together, and foolish together. That was a link that was never completely broken.
    And he'd summoned her, asked her to fly across an ocean.
    She hadn't hesitated.
    She'd known there was trouble, but she'd dropped everything and come, and had waited. And had died.
    "Dallas?"
    Eve shook herself, turned to Peabody. "What?"
    "Nothing on the 'link, but I had the fax replay transmissions. You'll want to see this."
    The minifax was tucked inside a small, slanttop desk. It hummed patiently, waiting the next command. Peabody picked up the single sheet of paper it had spilled out and handed it to Eve.
    Jennie, my dear,
    Roarke wishes to convey his thanks for you agreeing to make this unexpected trip. We hope it hasn't caused you any great inconvenience. We trust your rooms are satisfactory. If you have any needs or desires that haven't been met, you have only to contact the concierge.
    You're aware Roarke is concerned for your welfare. It's vital that he speak with you privately, and without the knowledge of the woman he chose to marry. He has information he wants to pass on to you as soon as possible. It's imperative that you meet him, and that you tell no one, not even those you trust, where you 're going. Please go to the corner of Fifth and Sixty-second at five p.m. A black sedan with New York plates and a uniformed driver will meet you. The driver will escort you and has full instructions.
    Forgive the intrigue, Jennie. A man in Roarke's position must be discreet. We ask that you destroy this communication.
    Yours, Summerset
    "Clever boy," Eve murmured. "He gives her enough to be sure she goes along. He tells her to get rid of the copy of the fax, but he doesn't tell her to