In Death 21 - Origin in Death

added, taking the little charm in her palm for a closer look. "Nice of him."
    "He comes through when it counts." Peabody tucked it back under her shirt. "Makes me feel, I don't know, warm knowing I'm wearing it."
    Eve thought of the diamond-big as a baby's fist-she wore under her shirt. It made her feel silly, and awkward, but warm, too, she supposed. At least since she'd gotten used to its weight.
    Not its physical weight, she admitted, but the emotional. It took time, at least in her experience, to grow accustomed to carrying love.
    The door opened. The woman from the portrait stood framed in the entrance with a shower of gold light behind her. Even eyes swollen from weeping couldn't diminish her outrageous beauty.
     
    I’ M SORRY TO HAVE KEPT YOU WAITING, AND IN
    the rain." Her voice matched her, a lovely and rich tone, thickened by grief. "I'm Avril Icove. Please come in."
    She stepped back into a foyer accented by a chandelier-each teardrop crystal was illuminated with soft gold light. "My husband is upstairs, finally resting. I hate to disturb him."
    "We're sorry to intrude at this time," Eve said.
    "But..." Avril managed a sad smile. "I understand. My children are home. We took them out of school, brought them home. I was upstairs with them. This is so hard for them, so hard for all of us. Ah ..." She pressed a hand to her heart. "If you'd come up to the second floor. We entertain on the main level, and it doesn't seem appropriate for this."
    "No problem."
    "The family living areas are on the second floor," she began as she turned to the stairs. "Can you tell me, is it all right to ask? Do you have any more information on the person who killed Wilfred?"
    "The investigation is in its early stages, and very active."
    Avril glanced over her shoulder as she reached the top of the stairs. "You really do say things like that. I enjoy crime drama," she explained. "The police really do say things like that. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
    She gestured them into a living room done in lavenders and forest greens. "Can I get you some tea or coffee? Anything at all."
    "No, thanks. If you'd come back with Dr. Icove," Eve told her. "We'd like to speak to both of you."
    "All right. This may take a few minutes."
    "Nice," Peabody commented when they were alone. "You expect elegant, like the main level, but this is nice and homey." She looked around, taking in the sofas, the sink-into-me chairs, shelves holding family photographs and memorabilia. One wall was dominated by a nearly life-size family portrait. Icove, his wife, and two pretty children smiled out at the room.
    Eve stepped up to it, read the signature on the bottom right corner. "Her work."
    "Beautiful and talented-I could hate her."
    Eve wandered the room, studying, accessing, dissecting. Family-oriented look, she decided, with feminine touches. Actual books rather than disc copies, entertainment screen concealed behind a decorative panel.
    And all tidy and ordered, like a stage set.
    "She studied art at some fancy school, according to her records." Eve slid her hands into her pockets. "Icove was named her legal guardian through parental stipulation in her mother's will. She was six. After she graduated from college, she married Junior. They lived, primarily, in Paris for the first six months, during which she painted professionally, and had a successful showing."
    "Before or after her father's unfortunate demise?"
    "After. They came back to New York, to this residence, had two kids-she took professional-mom status after number one. She continues to paint, portraits being her primary interest, but rarely takes commissions, and donates the proceeds to the Icove Foundation, thereby keeping her professional mother status."
    "You got a lot of data in a short amount of time,"
    "Straightforward," Eve said with a shrug. "No criminal on her, not even minor brushes. No previous marriage or cohab, no other children on record."
    "If you factor out the dead parents, dead in-laws, it's a pretty perfect life."
    Eve glanced around the room again. "Sure looks that way."
    When Icove stepped in she was facing the doorway. Otherwise, she wouldn't have heard him. The carpet was thick, and his shoes made no sound over it. He wore loose pants and a pullover rather than his suit. And still managed to look as if he were wearing one, Eve noticed.
    Roarke could do that, too, Eve thought. No matter how casually attired, he could radiate authority in a finger snap.
    "Lieutenant,