In Death 18 - Divided in Death

have any money to invest, would you maybe give me some pointers?”
    “I’d be delighted to.”
    “Yeah, like cops have investment funds.” Eve shook her head.
    “You just start out saving a little bit of each payday check,” Peabody explained. “Then you find the right place to put it, so you can increase the pot. Right?”
    “Exactly so,” Roarke agreed. “Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll find you a rainbow to bury that pot under.”
    He gestured when the doors opened on eighteen. “Ladies.”
    “We’re on duty. That makes us cops, not ladies.” But Eve stalked out, and to the door of the east-corner apartment.
    It opened before she could bother with the buzzer.
    “Is there some news? Has there been a development?” Caro caught herself, drew a breath. “I’m so sorry. Please come in. Why don’t we sit in the living area?”
    She stepped back to welcome them into the spacious apartment with a river view. Twin sofas done in strong blue were grouped into a conversation area accented with pretty lamps with jeweled shades and glossy tables.
    In what Eve considered a female trait, she’d arranged plump and colorful pillows on the sofas.
    There were fresh flowers in vases, attractive little dust catchers, and books—the sort with pages—grouped on shelves.
    She’d changed, Eve noted, into what she imagined Caro considered around-the-house attire. Both the shirt and pants were bronze; both were meticulously tailored.
    “What can I get you?”
    “Coffee would be lovely,” Roarke said before Eve could reject the offer. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
    “Of course not. I’ll just be a minute. Please, sit down. Be comfortable.”
    Eve waited until Caro had walked through a doorway. “This isn’t a social call, Roarke.”
    “She needs something to do, something normal. She needs a moment to settle.”
    “This is really beautiful,” Peabody said into the silence. “This place. Simple, classy elegance. Just right, you know. Like her.”
    “Caro is a woman of quiet and unquestionable taste. She’s built a life that reflects her own style and desires, and she’s done it on her own. Something you’d respect,” he said to Eve.
    “I do respect her. I like her.” Am intimidated by her, she thought. “And you know I can’t let that get in the way of the job.”
    “No. But you might add it into the equation.”
    “If you get overprotective and defensive, this isn’t going to work.”
    “I’m only asking for you to go gently with her.”
    “And here I was planning on smacking her around.”
    “Eve—”
    “Please, don’t quarrel over me.” Caro stepped back in, carrying a tray. “This is a very difficult situation we find ourselves in. I don’t need or expect special handling.”
    “Let me take that.” Roarke took the tray from her. “You should sit down, Caro. You look worn out.”
    “Not very flattering, but certainly true. I’m a little worn at the edges.” She made herself smile as she sat. “But I’m perfectly capable of handling the tough stuff, Lieutenant. I’m not fragile.”
    “No, I’ve never thought of you as fragile. Formidable.”
    “Formidable.” Now her smile warmed. “I’m not sure that’s flattering either. You take yours black, as Roarke does. And you, Detective?”
    “I’ll have it light, thanks.”
    “I need to speak with your daughter,” Eve began.
    “She’s resting. I browbeat her into taking a soother a couple hours ago.” As she poured, Caro pressed her lips together. “She’s grieving for him. Part of me is angry that she could grieve for him, under the circumstances. She’s not fragile either. I didn’t raise a fragile child. But she’s damaged by this—by all of it. And afraid. We’re both afraid.”
    She passed the coffee around, then a plate of thin golden cookies. “You must have some questions you need to ask me. Couldn’t you interview me first, give her just a little more time to rest?”
    “Tell me what you thought of Blair Bissel.”
    “What I thought of him, before this morning?” Caro lifted her cup. It was a pretty floral pattern. “I liked him, because my daughter loved him. Because by all appearances he loved her. I never felt as much for him as I’d hoped to feel for my daughter’s choice of mate, which sounds . . . convenient under the circumstances, but doesn’t make it less true.”
    “Why? Why didn’t you like him as much as you’d hoped to?”
    “That’s a good question, and