Stolen in Death, page 17
“Possibly all three.”
“Right. And the timing with her in New York when the old man’s starting to slide? When you look at the whole thing, who was most likely to slip and say something about the vault?”
“Henry.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got this blond operator right there. Wife four, and wife at the time of that party, didn’t have a name, didn’t know who she’d come with.”
“You think party crasher.”
“When I put it together, that’s where I’m leaning. Make the connection. Barrister’s rolling in it, and he likes them young. Flatter, flirt, fuel up that old libido. The fourth ex says she saw the blonde a couple more times, so that says she, the blonde, kept the connection going. Then she’s on tap again, just a couple months before he dies. I’m thinking they stayed in touch, and maybe somebody in the household remembers her.”
After finishing off the omelet, she shifted to him. “You wouldn’t fall for it.”
“Obviously, I prefer brunettes.”
“Not that. You wouldn’t fall for the play. You’ve been on the grift, and you wouldn’t fall for it. Like Mavis wouldn’t. You’d cop to the tells. Plus, women come on to you all the time.”
“Do they?”
“Jesus, Roarke, I’m often standing right there. You know when it’s a play.”
“Add I love my wife, and want to avoid her cha-cha.”
She laughed, kissed him, rose. “The point? Henry Barrister either didn’t care or had a wide-ass blind spot when it came to being played by a woman. Since, by all accounts, he was a player himself, I think the first. It didn’t matter as long as he got the young, hot sex.”
“Worth the cost to him. Yes, I agree with that. But not just the sex, Eve, at least to my thinking. The flattery, the attention, the shine of having something young, beautiful that others would envy on his arm. In his hands.”
“I’m going to agree there.”
She walked into her closet and tried not to think too hard about what always struck her as acres of clothes.
She’d just go with Roarke’s theme of the day. Gray.
She grabbed dark gray trousers, considered a shirt.
She couldn’t go with the maroon—too close to red, and red struck her as flashy. She went with a non-flashy blue. He’d probably have pulled out a blue belt, but she stuck with gray for the belt, for the boots.
She dressed, then because she had a weakness, went with a gray jacket in buttery leather. Coming out, she tossed the jacket on the arm of the sofa as she walked over to hook on her weapon harness.
“I have some things to see to today.”
She glanced back at him as she filled her pockets. “Imagine that.”
“But I should have a bit of time this afternoon for the investigators’ reports. I’ll check in with Feeney myself, as I’m curious there.”
“Okay.” She swung on the jacket, then frowned. “You know, maybe the fourth wife would work with a police artist. She really hates the blonde, so she might be willing. I’m betting that face is stuck in her brain.”
“Where is she?”
“Montana. Bozeman. They have to have police artists. I might try that. I’ve gotta go.”
“You could send Yancy,” he said as he rose.
“Not enough solid for that.”
“If there’s something there, you’ll solidify it.” He drew her in. “While you’re about it, take care of my cop.”
“I think since I’m reinterviewing and digging through files, I won’t have to work hard at that one.”
She kissed him. “You don’t own Fiji, right?”
“The island? No. Just a few spots on it.”
“It’d be funny if it turns out the killer thief ended up getting busted in one of them.”
“While holding an umbrella drink.”
“Even funnier. See you tonight. Cat’s making his move.”
It amused her the way Roarke turned, aimed those blue eyes at the cat, and the way the cat stopped his casual saunter toward the breakfast plates.
It amused her more, as she headed out, imagining Roarke would end up giving the cat a few of those little treats Galahad pounced on like a junkie on his fix.
Her car was waiting for her. She slid inside and started the short trip across town.
Dog walkers—one woman had two that looked like mops with legs prancing along. Joggers aiming for the great park. Kids in uniforms heading to their private school or being led there by a parent or nanny. A liveried doorman opening the door for a woman breezing out of her building. She carried a gold briefcase that matched her shoes, her sunshades.
The doorman hotfooted it to a black sedan to open the rear door for her before the driver could.
Eve caught a red light, watched pedestrians, a mix of business clothes and day laborer attire, stream across. A few, fresh from the subway, picked up their pace to try to make the light.
Since Peabody was one of them, Eve angled toward the curb, tapped the horn.
The tap kicked off a blast of a dozen horns Eve ignored as Peabody jumped in.
“Hey, nice timing.” Peabody strapped in as the light changed. “We ran into Summerset at the street fair.”
“So I heard.”
“He was with Ivanna and some other people. Anyway, he and Ivanna came to the house. We ran into Trina, too.”
Since Eve had already noted Peabody’s hair sported more red streaks, she’d deduced that.
“So she and the guy she was with—Ben, it’s not serious.”
“I was worried about that.”
“Ha. They came over, too. We made a ginormous pot of chili.” She let out a sigh. “We had so much fun.”
Before Eve could say something snarky, Peabody finished with, “I really appreciate you giving me the time. I went in yesterday.”
“You went into Central?”
“Yeah. McNab went in to give Feeney a break, so I went with him. I didn’t hit anything but a wall, but I read your reports, the interviews. All those ex-wives. And maybe a blonde.”
“We’re going to push on the blonde.”
Eve turned to the gates of Barrister House. She pulled out her badge, held it up for the scan.
“NYPSD, Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“It’d be a handy break if she’s connected, and we can identify her. McNab said there’s some chatter, but right now it’s gossip, speculation, anticipation. Willowby says if they’re going for an auction, they’re letting it brew, getting buyers revved up.”
“And waiting to see where the wind’s blowing,” Eve added as the gates opened. “If it’s blowing too warm, they might sit on the emeralds awhile. It’s not like they’ll be worth less in a month. In six fricking months.”
“So we’ll hope the blonde’s a link, and we connect her.”
“There are a couple possibles we pulled out from the investigators’ reports. The kind who might get hired for a high-profile job like this. I tossed them to Interpol.”
“Oh.”
“That doesn’t mean we don’t look, too.”
She pulled up, parked. “Abernathy can have the shine of the emeralds, as long as we get the killer.”
Peabody’s voice turned wistful. “Be nice to get both.”
“We won’t toss it aside.”
The butler opened the door as they walked toward the portico. His eyes, deeply shadowed, looked exhausted.
“Lieutenant, Detective. Do you have— Pardon me. Do you wish to see Ms. Carville?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Tyler, we don’t have anything new to report. We do have a few more questions. I’m sorry to disturb the family again. Are they available?”
“Of course. The family is in the dining room. Should I have them come to the parlor?”
“We can go to them. We’d also like to speak with you, Ms. Acker, and Ms. Fortigue.”
“Ms. Acker is upstairs with Trisha, the day maid.”
“Day maid.”
“Trisha assists Ms. Acker on Mondays and Thursdays.”
“If we could also speak with her? Peabody, why don’t you take Trisha in the parlor?
“Could I bring you coffee, Detective?”
“If it’s no trouble.”
“Not at all. Please, come this way.”
Tyler showed Peabody into the parlor, then escorted Eve toward the dining room.
“The family’s just finished breakfast. Divine urged Ms. Carville to eat. She told her the girls wouldn’t if she didn’t.”
“That did the trick?”
His lips curved slightly. “It did.”
The family sat together at one end of a dining room table that would have sat, comfortably, thirty. Though the day promised warm, a low fire simmered, surrounded by pink-grained white marble. A trio of chandeliers, their crystals winking with light, spanned the ceiling.
Both girls wore sweatpants, the older with a Harvard sweatshirt, the younger, a T-shirt where Mavis Freestone grinned. While Joy Barrister wore a business suit, the widow hit between her daughters and sister-in-law with black pants, black sweater.
And all looked at her with anticipation.
“I can’t give you much new information,” Eve began, “but I can assure you we’re working diligently on identifying the person responsible for Mr. Barrister’s death.”
“He’ll still be gone.”
Eve looked at the younger daughter. “Yes, he will. But your father deserves justice. You all deserve justice.”
“Please, sit down, Lieutenant.”
As Aileen spoke, Divine bustled in with coffee.
“Can I offer you some breakfast?”
“No, thanks. I would like to speak to everyone in the household. My partner is speaking to your day maid, but if I could speak to everyone else?”
“Ms. Acker is on her way down,” Tyler said. “I’ll take the detective her coffee, and come right back.”
“I’ll see to that.” Divine patted his arm before she started out.
“Lieutenant.” Joy took a long breath. “To say this is a difficult time doesn’t begin to cover it. We’ve had to screen our calls—even the girls. The media, they’re relentless.”
“We’ll conduct a media conference later today. I hope that will take some of the weight off that area.”
“You have to tell them Dad didn’t take those things.” Chloe gripped her hands together on the table. “You have to tell them he didn’t even know until…”
“As the primary in this investigation, I will tell them we have evidence Nathan Barrister was not responsible for the contents of the vault. And when he learned of them, began the process, along with his wife and sister, to expedite their return.”
“You believe us,” Aileen murmured.
“I believe you, but with your cooperation, EDD has searched your electronics, and in them found your considerable research on the contents—starting last July—your additional research on how best to facilitate their return, which corroborates your statements. I’ll be meeting with your estate lawyer as well, and trust he will further corroborate.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t stand for Nate’s reputation to be smeared by this.”
“I have to go in shortly.” Joy pressed her lips together, then lifted the back of her hand against them. “I have to speak to key staff, key accounts. The business has to … billions of people depend on Zip.”
“Understood. I’ll try not to keep you long.”
When Divine and Uma joined them, Eve looked back at Aileen. “Could everyone sit?”
“Oh yes, of course. I’m sorry. Please, everyone, sit down. I’d like to say something first. I want to say how much I, the girls, Joy appreciate and value everything you’ve done.”
“Ms. Carville—”
As Uma started to speak, Aileen held up a finger. “Please let me say this, let me thank you. Yesterday, while the girls and I had to spend hours making arrangements, contacting friends, relatives, while Joy had to handle business and the media, you all tended to us, looked after us. Uma, I know what you did in the office.”
She put a hand to her throat, steadied herself. “I’m forever grateful. Tyler, when the girls decided to take this semester off, you arranged for their things to be packed and shipped so we wouldn’t have to deal with it. Divine, you put food on the table, managed to convince us to eat. And I heard you give that reporter a very colorful piece of your mind when they managed to get your personal ’link number.”
“I enjoyed that, missus, maybe more than I should have.”
“I did, too. For myself, for Joy, for my beautiful girls, for Nate, thank you for taking care of us.”
She took a breath, turned to Eve. “You must have more questions.”
“We’re following a line of inquiry. Henry Barrister’s fourth wife mentioned a blond woman at a party held in Europe during her marriage.”
“There was always a woman,” Joy said dryly. “Not necessarily a blonde, but there was always a woman.”
“She was very young at that time, possibly about twenty, which would make her mid-thirties now.”
“He liked them young.”
When Aileen shot a sharp look at her youngest, Anya just shrugged. “Like Chloe and I didn’t know? Come on, Mom.”
“According to my information,” Eve continued, “this woman, whom the former Ms. Barrister couldn’t identify, made a play for—I’m using first names—for Henry. Lacey also states that she saw this woman a few more times, and believed she and Henry were involved.”
“This isn’t surprising information.” Aileen held up her hands. “I couldn’t count the number of women Henry was involved with, one way or the other, since Nate and I were together.”
“After speaking with his ex-wives, it became clear Henry had declined in the months before his death, as you and Joy have stated. Lacey further states that she saw this woman in New York during that time period. I’d like to know if she visited Henry here, at Barrister House.”
“A blonde in her mid-thirties.” Once again Aileen lifted her hands. “I couldn’t begin. And I’m not sure why she’s important, considering.”
“Ms. Carville—”
“First names.”
“Great. Aileen, if everyone in this room has spoken the truth, if no one in this room told anyone—excepting the lawyer—about the vault and what was in it, that leads me to believe Henry did. Whoever broke in, whoever stole the emeralds, whoever killed your husband knew the location of that vault, and came for the emeralds.”
“He might have. Joy! He might have.”
“He’d kept that secret for so long, half his life from what we can tell. Why would he talk about it to some blonde?”
“He wasn’t himself the last few months.” Chloe spoke up. “The last year or so really. He got me and Anya mixed up a few times, and remember, Mom, we were having dinner and he called you Lacey.”
“Those are just slips, and he was slipping, but to tell someone, some woman about the vault?” Joy shook her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’d like to identify her, if possible. Maybe you remember someone like that who attended one of his dinner parties toward the end of his life. Or was a houseguest. Possibly last December.”
“That narrows down the timing, but I honestly don’t remember.”
“Ms. Carville, I think I might.” Uma glanced at Tyler. “Ms. Fancy.”
As he nodded, Divine let out an Ohhh.
“That one,” she continued. “Breakfast in bed at nine sharp. Greek yogurt—one-half cup exactly—with fresh berries. One slice of whole wheat toasted lightly, cut on the diagonal. Six ounces of freshly squeezed orange juice—no pulp—and coffee with cream, no sugar or sweetener.”
“That’s specific,” Eve commented.
“I’ve got a good food memory.” She started to rise when Peabody stepped in. “Let me get you some more coffee.”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Sit,” Eve told her. “We may have an identification on the blonde. Ms. Fancy, you said?”
“Yes. In fact, Mr. Barrister called her that—Fancy or Ms. Fancy—in kind of an affectionate way. She was a guest here, I believe it was December, as we had the decorations up, the December before Mr. Barrister passed. She had the Peacock guest room, which … hmm, adjoins to the main suite. She was in residence, I believe, for several days, perhaps up to a week.”
“Do you have a first name?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“I think she was here a time or two before. For a dinner party,” Tyler added, and cleared his throat. “I believe she may have remained overnight, but, ah, not in a guest room on those occasions.”
“One of those breakfast in bed for twos?” Divine pointed at Tyler. “Mr. Henry always came down for breakfast unless he had company of that nature. That was usually eggs Benedict and mimosas. And you’d take the tray up.”
“Yes. While you learn to do your job without seeing certain details, I can recall a young blond woman. But again, there were others.”
“Tell me what you know or remember about this particular one. About Ms. Fancy.”
“I called her Ms. Fakey.” At Uma’s wince, Divine just shook a finger. “I’m going to say what I think.”
“I wish you would. Why Fakey?” Eve asked.
“’Cause she was. Fake, and snooty with it. Didn’t you say how she told you she wanted you to hand-wash and press her panties, and said she expected her bed turned down every night at ten o’clock—no sooner, no later—and to leave a tray with a cup of jasmine tea?” Divine closed her eyes a moment. “Yes, jasmine, lightly steeped, no cream, no sugar, and two macaroons, baked fresh.”
“I’d forgotten the macaroons.”
“I make it, I remember it. And didn’t she go out every blessed afternoon? Sometimes Mr. Henry went with her, and even when he didn’t, she’d have a car and driver. And wouldn’t she come back loaded with shopping bags? She’d order you, John, to unload them and take them up to her room, and you, Uma, to unpack them and put everything away. Like she was queen of the place.”
“Can you describe her?”
“I didn’t see her much myself. Never once came back to the kitchen.”
“Very beautiful,” Uma offered. “I suppose mid-thirties, but it’s difficult to tell. Or I’m not particularly good at that. Long blond hair.” She waved her hands down to her shoulders. “I think blue eyes, but I’m not sure. Not brown.”
