In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

shoes.”
    “I’ll say, as these two were ready to fight to the death over something called a triple roll. In peony. What the hell is peony?”
    “A flower.”
    “I know it’s a damn flower.” Or she probably did. “Is it a shape, smell, a color?”
    “I’m going to assume color. And probably pink.”
    “I told Mira, and she got this gleam in her eye. Called the shop right then and there and bought it.”
    Roarke sat back and laughed just as Teresa brought their pizza. “I don’t have to tell you two to enjoy yourselves, but I hope you enjoy the pizza. Just let me know if I can get you anything else.”
    Eve watched Teresa move—serving, chatting, picking up orders. “She’s got her groove, her routine. Knows her people—staff and customers. Doesn’t come off like a woman with a deep, dark secret.” Since she gauged the pizza had cooled enough that she could avoid scorching the roof of her mouth, she took a sampling bite. “And okay, damn good pie.”
    “It is. She also doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d fight to the death over a pink designer handbag.”
    “Huh?”
    “Good, serviceable shoes, pretty jewelry, but far from flashy. She wears a wedding ring,” he added. “That says traditional. Her nails are short and tended, and unpainted. She has good skin, and wears—at least at work—minimal enhancers. I’ll wager she’s a woman who takes care of herself, and who likes nice things—things that last—and takes care of what she has as well.”
    Eve smiled at him over another bite. “You’re looking with cop’s eyes.”
    “It’s rude to insult me when I’m buying you dinner. I’ll also wager her handbag is as good and serviceable as her shoes, and that she’d be as baffled as you are by anyone biting a cop over a pink purse.”
    “I don’t disagree.” Eve caught a long string of cheese, folded it back over the slice. “But none of that means she wasn’t aware her firstborn was across the bridge, playing a long con.”
    “But you don’t think so.”
    Taking a moment, Eve toyed with her wine. “I don’t think so, but I’m going to find out, one way or the other.”
    Meanwhile, there was no reason not to enjoy really good pizza while she tracked Teresa’s movements through the dining room, the open kitchen.
    She waited until Teresa came back to the table. “How was everything?”
    “Great.”
    “Can I interest you in dessert?” she began as she started to clear. “We have homemade tiramisu tonight. It’s amazing.”
    “Have to pass. Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
    Eyes suddenly wary, Teresa lowered her order comp. “Is there a problem?”
    “I need a few minutes.” Eve laid her badge on the table, watched Teresa’s gaze shift to it, stall there. “Private’s best.”
    “Um . . . there’s a little office off the bar, but—”
    “That’ll work.” Eve slid out, rose, knowing she was crowding Teresa’s space.
    “I just need to get someone to cover my tables. Ah . . .”
    “Fine.” Eve glanced at Roarke as Teresa hurried over to another waitress. “Why don’t you come with us?” she said to Roarke. “We’ll see how close you hit the mark on your evaluation.”
    They skirted tables, wound through the bar. The office was little, as advertised, and cozily cluttered. Inside, Teresa linked her fingers, twisted them. “Is something wrong? Did I do something? I’m sorry about the flowers, and Spike was very bad. But I—”
    “Spike?”
    “The puppy. I didn’t know he’d dig in the flowers, and I promised to replace them. I told Mrs. Perini, and she said it was all right.”
    “It’s not about the dog, Mrs. Franco. It’s about your son.”
    “David? Is David all right? What—?”
    “Not David,” Eve said, cutting through the instant maternal alarm. “Lino.”
    “Lino.” Teresa’s hand went to her heart, and her heel pressed there. “If it’s the police, of course, it’s Lino.” Weariness settled over her like a thin, worn blanket. “What has he done?”
    “When’s the last time you had contact with him?”
    “Almost seven years now. Not a word in nearly seven years. He told me he had work. Big prospects. Always big prospects with Lino. Where is he?”
    “Where was he the last time you had contact with him?”
    “Out west. Nevada, he said. He’d been in Mexico for a time. He calls, or sends e-mail. Sometimes he sends money. Every few months. Sometimes a year goes by. He tells me he’ll come home, but he