In Death 09 - Loyalty in Death

thought you'd offed her husband, and then... oh that won't work." She furrowed her brow. "I mean, gee, unless they ditched the body, the cops would've tagged it as a droid right off. She's the one who got rid of the body, right?"
    "Yes." It was indeed getting through, and his heart cracked like an egg. "She was... scared."
    "Yeah, well, who wouldn't be, but if she hadn't lost the body, it would've been all over that same night. Nobody would've thought Branson was dead. The cops wouldn't have wasted all that time and given Branson the lead to get clear and stuff. I guess, hmmm." She tilted her head. "I guess if Dallas hadn't figured a droid, they'd never have found the body anyway. Then everybody would think the guy was fish food, and Clarissa had run off because she was so weirded by the whole scene. Wow!"
    She sat up as if the idea had just occurred to her. "That means if Dallas hadn't clicked to it and pushed until she had the proof, they'd have gotten away with it, and you'd still believe you'd killed a guy."
    "Oh God." It didn't just get through now. It burst through, ripping out his guts. "What have I done?"
    "You didn't do anything, honey." Mavis swung her legs off the sofa, leaned forward to lay a hand over his. "They did it all. Danced a number over you. All you did was be who you are. A nice guy who believes the best of people."
    "I have to think." He got shakily to his feet.
    "Sure you do. You want to lie down? They've got amazing guest rooms in this place."
    "No, I... I said I'd work on Dallas's car. That's what I'll do. I think better when I'm using my hands."
    "Okay."
    She made him put on his coat, bundled him up, and added a motherly peck on the cheek. Closing the door behind him, she turned, and let out a squeak of surprise when she saw Roarke on the steps.
    "You're a good friend, Mavis."
    "Roarke!" This time she squealed and bounded up the steps. "I got something for you. Dallas said I could." With this, she threw her arms around him and gave him a hard, noisy kiss.
    For a little thing, Roarke mused, she packed a punch. "Thank you."
    "I'm going to tell you about the tour, every second of it. But not now, because Dallas said you'd be busy."
    "Unfortunately, I am."
    "So I thought Leonardo and I could take you guys out to dinner -- maybe next week? Sort of celebrate and fill you in and thank you. Thank you, Roarke. You gave me the chance for everything I wanted."
    "You did the job." He tugged on one of her curls, watched it, with some fascination, spring out and back. "I'd hoped to take Eve to your final show in Memphis. But things got complicated."
    "So I hear. She looked ragged out big time. I figure when she wraps this up, you can help me kidnap her. We'll get Trina to give her the full treatment -- relaxation and beauty session. The works."
    "It'll be a pleasure."
    "You look a little tired yourself." And she couldn't remember ever seeing real fatigue in his eyes before.
    "It was a filthy night."
    "Maybe Trina should have a go at you, too." His only answer was a vague "Hmmm," and she grinned. "I'll let you get back to what you're doing. Okay if I take a swim?"
    "Enjoy yourself."
    "Always do." She danced down the stairs, grabbed her oversized bag, and headed for the elevator to the pool house. She was going to give Trina a call and make those appointments -- including erotic therapy.
    Since she'd tried it out with Leonardo, she knew it was mag.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
    Eve scanned every file and disk in Branson's office. He'd covered his tracks well. Even his private 'link had been wiped clean. She'd send it to Feeney, but she doubted he'd find any overlooked data on the logs.
    She pigeonholed his assistant, then his brother's assistant, but got nothing out of them other than shock and confusion.
    He'd kept his area clean, she decided.
    She did a run through the labs, examined the droids in development. She nailed another piece into place when the lab foreman, in the spirit of cooperation, told her they had produced replica droids of both Branson brothers. As a surprise, he explained, ordered by Clarissa Branson. A personal request, kept off the books and logs.
    They'd been completed and delivered to the Branson townhouse only three weeks before.
    Very slick timing, Eve thought as she wandered through production with its orderly shelves loaded with minidroids, tyke-bykes, and space toys.
    She picked up an excellent reproduction of a police issue stunner, shook her head. "This sort of thing should be