In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

“Eavesdropping now, Lieutenant?”
    50
     
    “I was standing in my office. Your door was open. I have ears.”
    “Then use them to hear this. I’m having lunch, nothing more or less.” His head angled slightly while those wild blue eyes narrowed speculatively on her face. “Or don’t you trust me?”
    “I’d trust you a hell of a lot more if you didn’t refer to her as an oldfriend when we both know she was a hell of a lot more.”
    “What she was is nearly a dozen years in the past. Years before I ever set eyes on you.”
    Now simple bafflement joined the irritation and the ice. “Christ Jesus, are you jealous of a woman I haven’t spoken to, seen, or thought of in years?”
    Eve only looked at him for one long moment. “You’re thinking of her now,” she said, and walked away.
    She jogged down the steps, and there was Summerset, Roarke’s majordomo, his guardian, his man of all work. And the chronic pain in her ass. He stood, tall and thin in unrelieved black, his pewter hair swept back into wings, and cool disdain in his dark eyes.
    She only grabbed the coat, which was draped over the newel post. “If you say a word to me, just one fucking word, I’ll yank that stick out of your ass and beat you bloody with it.”
    She strode toward the door, then spun around. “And tell yourkeeper if I were the jealous type I’d have beatenhim bloody two years ago. Goddamn it.”
    Summerset arched his brows, speculated, then glanced up as Roarke came to the top of the stairs.
    “The lieutenant seems more abrasive than usual this morning,” Summerset commented.
    “She’s having a mood.” Hands in his pockets, Roarke frowned at the front door. A damned uncharacteristic mood, he thought. “Magdelana’s in town. We’re having lunch today. Apparently, Eve doesn’t like it.”
    He met Summerset’s eyes and the expression in them had the temper he’d barely gotten back under control straining again. “Don’t start on me. I’ve had enough drama for one day, and it’s not even eight in the bloody morning.”
    “Why would you complicate your life?”
    “I’m not. I’m having fucking lunch. Leave it be,” Roarke warned before walking away.
     
    51
    The snow at the curbs had gone to dirty gray, and slick patches of ice were booby traps on the sidewalks and people glides. Half-frozen commuters stood bundled to the eyes waiting at maxibus stations. On the corners, glide-cart vendors had their grills smoking as much for personal warmth as business.
    Her vehicle gauge listed the ambient temperature as a hideous four degrees.
    She hoped Roarke froze his Irish ass off.
    Sitting in snarled traffic, she let her head drop down to the wheel. She’d handled it the wrong way. She didn’t know how the hell she should’ve handled it, but she knew she’d bungled it. Now he was going to be pissed at her when he met that…slut. That couldn’t be good strategy.
    And why the hell should she need any strategy anyway?
    “Forget it, forget it,” she told herself. “Barely a bump in the road.”
    Still she steamed about it all the way downtown, brooded over it as she crammed herself in the crowded elevator up to Homicide.
    She went straight to her office with barely a snarl for the bull pen. Closed the door, programmed coffee.
    Work space, she reminded herself. No personal business allowed. That was it, that was all. She decided to drink her coffee and stare out her tiny window until her mind was clear enough to work.
    She was still drinking, still staring, when, after a quick knock, Peabody walked in.
    “Morning. How was the dinner thing?”
    “I ate. Get your coat. We’re going to the vic’s apartment.”
    “Now? Should I contact Lissette Foster to make sure she’s-”
    “I said get your coat.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Peabody didn’t speak again until they were in the car. “Did I miss something? Are we looking at Lissette as prime suspect?”
    “When did you think we’d cleared her?”
    “I didn’t, but I thought we felt she was an unlikely for this.”
    52
     
    “She had the opportunity. As for motive, spouses can always find one. Sometimes it’s just because you married an asshole. This is where we start.” She drove for a time in silence. “I want to see where he lived,” she said more calmly. “How he lived. How they lived. His body tells us he was a healthy man in his middle twenties who died from ingesting a lethal dose of ricin. That’s about all it tells us. That doesn’t mean that’s