In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

cubes were reminders to send thank-you notes for parties or gifts, to send invites for dinner or cocktails or lunch. Reminders to buy a hostess gift for so and so or an anniversary gift for him and her whoever. The sort of thing the wife of a high-powered and successful man did, she supposed.
    The sort of thing she never did.
    Who did? she wondered. Did Roarke handle that himself, or Summerset, or Caro?
     
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    Allika kept separate date books for herself, for her husband, for her kid.
    Straffo’s golf dates, dinner meetings (whether she was needed to attend or not), his salon appointments, doctors’ appointments, meetings with his tailor, scheduled out-of-town trips. A family trip scheduled for March, which coincided with the kid’s spring break from school.
    She compared it with Allika’s. Shopping dates, lunch dates, salon dates, dinner with her husband, some with clients or friends, some without.
    She noted that neither of them had scheduled appointments during the time frame of either murder.
    The kid’s appointment book was a shocker. Dance class, twice weekly, socialization dates (what the hell?) three times a week with various other kids. Melodie Branch was down for every Thursday afternoon from three-thirty until four-thirty. Swapping houses, Eve saw. One week at the Branch place, one week here at the Straffos’.
    There was soccer practice once a week beginning in March, and something called Brain Teasers the kid attended every Saturday morning. Followed, two Saturdays a month, by a volunteer stint with an organization called From the Kids.
    In addition to the monthly schedule, there were additions of birthday parties, field trips, school projects, Drama Club meetings, doctors’ appointments, museum and library trips, art projects, family outings.
    As far as Eve could see, the kid had more going on than both of her parents.
    No wonder they needed the au pair, Eve mused. Though it was a little odd that Allika had carried professional mother status from the time Rayleen was born until the death of the son. Though she wasn’t pursuing a career, or even a paying hobby outside the home, Allika had let that status lapse.
    Eve bagged the notebooks. She wanted more time to study them, and to verify all the names and groups and locations.
    She went through the little desk. Monogrammed stationery-so Allika handwrote some of those thank-yous and invites, Eve mused. Huh. An organized-by-occasion selection of cards-birthdays (humorous, flowery, formal, youth), sympathy, congratulations, and so on.
    Spare discs and memo cubes, address book, a file of clippings on decorating.
    It made Eve think of the clippings Peabody had found in Lissette Foster’s cube. Common ground, Eve mused. Something there? Maybe the women had crossed paths in their interest in decorating.
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    She made a note to check it out, though she doubted Allika and Lissette shopped for doodads or draperies at the same level.
    Correspondence Allika had saved ran to cute little cards or notes from girlfriends, printed out e-mails from same, or from the kid.
    There were birthday cards and feel-better cards from Rayleen, all of them handmade.
    And with more style and skill, Eve admitted, than she herself could claim. Pretty paper and colors, some comp-generated, some hand-drawn.
    DON’T BE SAD, MOMMY!
    One of the cards announced in big, careful printing on heavy pink paper. There was a drawing of a woman’s face with shiny tears on the cheeks.
    Inside the woman was smiling, with her cheek pressed to the cheek of a girl’s face.
    Flowers bloomed all around the edges and a wide rainbow curved at the top. The sentiment read:
    I’LL ALWAYS BE HERE TO MAKE YOU SMILE! LOVE, YOUR OWN RAYLEEN
    Eve noted Allika had written the date on the back of the card. January 10, 2057.
    In the closet she found some art supplies, a paint smock, clear boxes filled with things like glass marbles, stones, beads, ribbons, silk flowers. Hobby stuff, Eve supposed, all as organized as the rest of the place.
    And on the top shelf, behind boxes of supplies, a large and lovely fabric-covered box with a jeweled latch.
    Eve took it down, opened it. Found the dead son.
    Here were the photographs, from infant to toddler. A beaming and pregnant Allika, a dreamy-eyed Allika holding an infant wrapped in a blue blanket. Pictures of the baby boy with his big sister, with his father, and so on.
    She found a swatch of the blanket, a lock of downy hair, a small stuffed dog, a single