In Death 30 - Fantasy in Death

commented.
    Voice recognition unaccepted. These premises do not accept solicitations. All deliveries must be cleared. No guests are expected at this time. Please identify yourself and state your business. Thank you.
    “Well, it said please .” Peabody shrugged. “And thank you .”
    “Yeah, real polite. I guess they don’t much like the neighborly drop-in.”
    Identification is requested within ten seconds. These premises are protected by Secure-One. Identification failure will alert the authorities in ten seconds.
    “Not so polite now.” Eve pulled out her badge. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, NYPSD. We have business with Lane DuVaugne.”
    No appointment is scheduled.
    “Scan the badge, and inform Mr. DuVaugne the cops are at the door. Failure to do so will result in a whole bunch more cops with a warrant arriving within thirty minutes.”
    Please place your identification on the palm plate for verification scan. Thank you.
    “Got its manners back,” Eve commented as she complied.
    Identification verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, of the New York Police and Security Department. Mr. DuVaugne will be informed of your arrival. One moment, please.
    It took more than a moment, but the security cleared and the door opened.
    The servant droid, all skinny dignity in a stark black suit, had Eve muffling a snort. He could have been Summerset’s brother, not only in appearance, but by the derisive dismissal on his face as he peered down at her.
    “Hey, he looks a lot like—”
    “The biggest pain in my ass,” Eve finished, and thinking of Roarke’s majordomo smiled thinly. “Got a name, pal, or just a number?”
    “I am Derby.” He’d been programmed with a tony British accent. “If you’d inform me of the nature of your business with Mr. DuVaugne I will relate same to him. Your companion has not yet identified herself.”
    “Peabody, Detective Delia.” Peabody held up her badge.
    “Now that we’re all nicely ID’d, you can relate to your owner that the NYPSD will speak with him here, in the comfort of his own home, or we’ll escort him to our house for a chat. That would be the less comfortable and more public Cop Central. Our business with him is none of yours. Process that.”
    “I will so inform Mr. DuVaugne. You’re requested to wait in the anteroom. I have engaged all internal security cameras. Your movements and conversation are being recorded.”
    “We’ll resist scratching in inappropriate places.”
    He sniffed, turned his back, then led them across the open foyer with its central pool of Venus-blue water guarded by some sort of metal sculpture of a mostly naked female poised to dive in.
    The glass-walled anteroom held twin gel sofas in glittery silver with murder-red cushions, chairs in a dizzying pattern of both colors. All the tables were clear glass. Some held gardens of strange blooms winding in their bases. From the ceiling a tangle of steel and glass formed chandeliers. The floors were the same tone and texture as the exterior steel.
    Eve tried to think if she’d ever seen a more hyper-trendy and less comfortable room, but couldn’t come up with one.
    “Wait here,” Derby ordered. When he left, Eve walked to the front wall.
    Yes, it definitely made her feel exposed.
    “Why would anybody want nothing but a sheet of fancy glass between them and the rest of the world?” She managed a shrug instead of a shudder, then turned away. “Impressions?”
    Peabody circled her eyes as if to remind Eve they were being recorded. “Um. It’s really clean? And quiet. You can’t hear any street noises at all.” She gestured to the window. “It’s kind of like a vid with the audio muted.”
    “Or we’ve stepped into an alternate universe where the world outside this glass is soundless. And creepy.”
    “Well, it’s creepy now.” Then Peabody winced, circled her eyes again. “But really clean.”
    Eve turned again at the sound of footsteps—a man’s, and from the click-click, a woman’s heels.
    She noted the woman first, and realized the new wife had modeled for the mostly naked sculpture in the foyer. Now she wore a short summer dress that matched the soft blue of her eyes and the current rage of footwear that left the top of the foot unshod. Her toes sported polish in various pastel shades. Her hair fell in a tumble of red with gilded highlights around a face dominated by full, pouty lips.
    Beside her the man stood nondescript in a conservatively cut business suit. Still, his