In Death 22 - Memory in Death

eating. And she’d be able to
    do so with her back to them.
    Fascinating.
    She checked her coat, brushed off the waiter who must have offered to escort her to their table. And crossed the restaurant alone, in that long, loose stride he loved.
    “Lieutenant,” he said, rising to greet her, “you make a picture.”
    “A picture of what?”
    “Confidence and authority. Very sexy.” He kissed her lightly, then gestured to the wine he’d poured
    when he’d seen her come in. “It’s not a tumbler, but you can consider it a bottomless glass.”
    “Appreciate it.” She took a good slug. “Crappy day.”
    “So I gathered. Why don’t we order, then you can tell me about it?”
    She glanced up at the waiter who materialized at her side. “I want spaghetti and meatballs, with the red sauce. You got that here?”
    “Of course, madam. And to start?”
    She lifted her wine. “I’ve started.”
    “Insalada mista,” Roarke told him. “Two. And I’ll have the chicken Parmesan.” He dipped some bread
    in the herbed oil already on the table, handed it to her. “Sop some of that wine up, why don’t you?”
    She stuffed the bread in her mouth.
    “Describe the waiter for me.”
    “What? Why?”
    “It’s entertaining. Go ahead.” And it would settle her down, he thought.
    She shrugged, took another good swallow of wine. “Caucasian male, mid-thirties. Wearing black pants, white shirt, black loafer-style shoes. Five eight, a hundred and fifty. Brown and brown. Smooth complexion. Full bottom lip, long nose with a good-sized hook to it. Crooked eye-tooth on the left. Straight, thick eyebrows. Bronx accent, but he’s working on losing it. Small stud, right earlobesome kind of blue stone. Thick silver band, ring finger, left hand. Gay. He’s probably got a spouse.”
    “Gay?”
    “Yeah, he checked you out, not me. So?”
    “So. As I said, entertaining. What went wrong today?”
    “What didn’t?” she answered, and told him.
    The salads arrived before she’d finished, so she stabbed at hers.
    “So, that’s where I’m at. Can’t beat up Baxter or Trueheart, because as far as I can seethey did
    the job. Wouldn’t have been a job if I hadn’t worked it.”
    “Which means you beat up on yourself. What’s the point, Eve? If he was pushed, where does it come from? Where’s the gain?”
    “You can go back to money. Trudy was pretty well set, and he’s doing okay. Or you go back to revenge. He was there, living in the house, her blood relation, when she was fostering.”
    “He brought you food,” Roarke reminded her. “You wouldn’t have been the only one he’d done that for.”
    “Probably not. But he didn’t stand up. Maybe somebody figures he should have.” Do you?
    She stabbed more salad, drank more wine. “No. Blood’s thicker, and so’s self-preservation. I don’t
    blame him for anything. But he was a kid when I was there, just another kid. He was older before she gave up fostering. Someone could figure he should pay, too.”
    “His silence makes him an accessory?”
    “Something like that. And damn it, it would be easier to erase them at home, wouldn’t it? Yeah, you
    got a strange city, more people, so that’s a plus. But you’d be able to scope their routines more back in
    Texas. Which takes me back, at least part of the way, to impulse.”
    “Have you considered Bobby’s pretty new wife?”
    “Yeah, and still am. Maybe she wasn’t as tolerant of her mother-in-law as she claims. From my side,
    it would take a hell of a lot of tolerance. So she sees an opportunity, takes it. Get rid of Mama Tru,
    and put the money in Bobby’s pocket. Then, hey, why not ditch the middle man? He’s out, I’m in.
    Could she be stupid enough to think I wouldn’t look at her for it?”
    “When you look, what do you see?”
    “Nothing that pops up and screams ‘I’m a murderer,’ not on evidence, not on her record. But she’s
    a little too sweet and sissy for me.”
    He smiled a little. “Can girls be sissies?”
    “In my world. All that pink and pastel and ‘Mama Tru.’” Eve stuffed more bread in her mouth.
    “Cries if you look at her.”
    “Well now, you’ve a dead mother-in-law, an abduction, and a husband in the hospital. Seems a few
    tears are justified.”
    Eve just drummed her fingers. “There’s nothing in her record that leans toward this. I don’t see anyone marrying Bobby for money just not enough of it, even if she’d known about Trudy’s dirty little nest