Innocent in Death (13 page)

“More enthusiastic than I feel about small gold hoops hanging from my earlobes.”

But she found a pair, dressed, pleased that he’d poked at her about her clothes.

And just as she was about to sit down with him, as the cat leaped on the arm of the sofa to eye the bacon, Roarke’s pocket ’link beeped.

She knew the minute he pulled it out to check the display. “Take it,” Eve said, even as he started to slide the ’link back in his pocket. “I guess she’s an early riser.”

“I switched her to voice mail. Let’s eat before this gets cold.”

“Take it,” Eve repeated. “Peabody’ll be here any minute anyway. I’ll see you later.”

“Damn it, Eve.”

“Later,” she said again, and kept walking.

8

“NICE THREADS,” PEABODY COMMENTED, COMING in as Eve was coming down. “Roarke, right?”

“Who else? Since obviously if left to my own devices I’d commit such fashion felonies as would frighten small children and embarrass multitudes.”

“Misdemeanors, anyway. We’re not going up to your office? Your AutoChef?”

“No.” Eve yanked on her coat as Summerset stood silently by. “Everybody’s getting a goddamn early start today. My vehicle better be where I left it,” she snapped at him. “Or I’m getting it myself, dragging you out, and running you over with it.”

“What you call a vehicle is outside, currently embarrassing the house.”

“Peabody.” Eve gestured for the door. Eve waited until Peabody went outside. “I want to know if she comes here. I want to know if she comes into this house. You got that?”

“Yes.”

She marched out into the cold, hatless, gloveless, then slid behind the wheel. “First address.”

Peabody gave it to her, then cleared her throat. “Rough night?”

“Life’s full of rough nights.”

“Look, if you want to talk about it or just spew, that’s what partners are for.”

“There’s a woman.”

“No possible way.”

It was said so quickly, and with such easy confidence, Eve would have been comforted under any other circumstances. “There’s a woman,” she repeated. “One he used to be involved with a long time ago. Seriously involved. She’s back, and she’s making moves. He doesn’t see them as moves. He doesn’t see what she is under the gloss. We’ve got a problem.”

“You’re sure—” It only took one look from Eve for Peabody to blow out a breath. “Okay, you’re sure. First I’m going to say he wouldn’t twist on you, not with anyone. But having some bitch put moves on him is a steamer. You want to go have a talk with her, put a little muscle into it. We can tune her up, put her ass on a shuttle for Siberia.”

“Sounds good.” She stopped at a light, scrubbed her hands over her face. “Can’t do it, can’t touch her, can’t beat her to death with a hammer and bury her in White Plains.”

“Bloomfield would be better than White Plains anyway.”

It got a weak laugh. “I don’t know how to do this, how hard to push him, how far to stand back. I don’t know the steps and strategy. I think I’ve already screwed up.”

“Dallas? I think you should tell him this hurts you.”

“I’ve never had to tell him something like that before. He sees stuff in me before I have to.” She shook her head. “It’s fucking me up. It’s fucking us up. And I’ve got to put it away and do my job.”

She ran down her conversation with Lissette Foster, and the deletion of the key ingredient in the contents of the go-cup.

“So it indicates that the poison was added to the drink prior to coming into the school, and most likely in a dupe vessel.”

“Well…” Peabody juggled it in her head. “Poison’s a method females opt for more often than males.”

“Statistically, yeah.”

“According to Lissette, Mirri Hallywell knew about the key ingredient. What if, knowing we’d cop to the recipe, she deliberately left it out. Lissette would end up being her alibi.”

“Convoluted,” Eve mused. “But not impossible.”

“Or Lissette could have left it out deliberately, same reason. And yeah,” Peabody said before Eve could comment, “it doesn’t bounce very well.”

“If you don’t toss the ball, it never bounces. We’ll keep the possibilities in the mix.”

Eve angled toward the curb, and when she got out it did her spirits good to see the disdain in the doorman’s eagle eyes.

“Can’t leave that heap there, lady.”

“Hey, you know how many sexual favors my partner here had to promise to score that ride?”

“You were supposed to perform them,” Peabody reminded her.

“Maybe I’ll get around to that. Meanwhile…” She pulled out her badge. “You’re going to watch over that heap like it was an XR-5000, fresh off the showroom floor. And you’re going to buzz up and tell—Who are we seeing here, Peabody?”

“The Fergusons.”

“You’re going to tell the Fergusons that we’ve come to chat.”

“Mr. Ferguson’s already left the building this morning. Breakfast meeting. Mrs. Ferguson’s still inside.”

“Then get hopping.”

He looked none too pleased, but rang the apartment and cleared them inside.

Into chaos.

Eileen Ferguson had a child of indeterminate age on her hip. He had some sort of pink goo circling his mouth and was wearing footed pajamas decorated with grinning dinosaurs.

Eve figured if dinosaurs grinned it was because dinner was about to be served. So why did adults decorate their offspring with carnivores? She’d never get it.

In the background came screams and barks and whoops that may have been glee or terror. Eileen herself wore a rust-colored sweater, loose black pants, and fuzzy slippers the color of cotton candy. Her brown hair was slicked back in a long tail and her eyes, a quiet hazel, seemed eerily calm given the noise level.

Eve wondered if she’d toked before answering the door.

“This must be about Craig Foster. Come in at your own risk.” She stepped back. “Martin Edward Ferguson, Dillon Wyatt Hadley.” She didn’t shout, but her voice, perfectly pleasant, carried. “Settle down right now, or I’ll dismantle that dog and shove the parts into the recycler. Sorry, coffee?” she said to Eve and Peabody.

“Ah, no.”

“Dog’s a droid-terrier mix. I had a moment of complete insanity and bought it for Martin for his birthday. And now, we pay the price.”

But Eve noted that the noise level had dropped. Perhaps, at one time or another, other items had found their way into Eileen’s recycler.

“Have a seat. I’ll just put Annie in her chair.”

The chair was a round and colorful deal with dozens of bright buttons and rolling things to entertain curious fingers. It beeped and it buzzed and let out what Eve thought was a fairly creepy chuckle. But Annie was immediately engaged.

“Word is that Mr. Foster was poisoned.” Eileen dropped into a black scoop chair. “Is that true?”

“We’ve determined Mr. Foster ingested a poisonous substance, yes.”

“Just tell me, is it safe for me to take these kids to school?”

“We have no reason to believe the students are in any danger.”

“Thank God—on so many levels. I don’t want anything to happen to Martin—or any of them. But, sweet Jesus, I don’t want to be saddled with four kids all day.”

“Four?” Eve repeated, and felt an immediate flood of fear and sympathy. “Only Martin Ferguson is listed as your child on school records.”

“I’ve got kid duty this week.”

“Which is?”

“I take the group—that’s Martin, and Dillon from upstairs, Callie Yost, she’ll be here in a minute, and Macy Pink. We pick her up on the way; she lives a block down. Haul them to school, pick them up at the end of the day. In case of school cancellation or the enormous number of school holidays, I deal with them. We cycle—every week one of the parents has kid duty.”

“You signed in the day Mr. Foster died at shortly after eight and were there for forty minutes.”

“Yeah, got them in early, dumped them in Early Care, then I had to take the dozen cupcakes to the nutrition center for clearance.”

“Do parents or students routinely bring in outside food?”

“Not without much to-do. It was Martin’s birthday, hence the cupcakes. I had preclearance for them. You can’t take in outside food for student groups without preclearance. You have to fill out a form,” Eileen explained, “note down the type of food and all the ingredients in case any of the kids have allergies or conditions, or cultural restrictions—parental restrictions.”

Eileen paused and began to take tiny clothes out of a basket and fold them into tinier shapes. “Pain in the butt from my view, but the rules are fairly strict. The principal and the nutritionist have to sign off on it. It’s like national security. I got them cleared, paid the fee for the juice I forgot to bring to go with the cupcakes. Then I realized I’d picked up Callie’s school bag instead of Annie’s diaper bag, and had to go back to Early Care, make the switch. At which time I realized, clued in
byeau de Annie,
that she desperately needed the diaper bag. I dealt with that. I guess it could’ve taken forty minutes.”

“During that time, who did you see or speak to?”

“Well, Laina—the nutritionist—Lida Krump, early care provider, and her assistant, Mitchell. I saw Principal Mosebly briefly. We passed in the hall as I was leaving and spoke for a minute. How are you, happy birthday to Martin, and so on. I actually saw Craig Foster going into the staff lounge. I didn’t even stop to talk to him, just sent him a wave and kept going. I wish I’d taken a minute, but you always think you’re going to have a minute more, some other time.”

“Did you know him well?”

“As well as any of the staff, I suppose. I’d run into him now and again in the neighborhood, and we had the usual conferences. Twice each term there are parent-teacher meetings, more if needed. They’re routinely needed for Martin,” she added with a wry smile.

“Martin had trouble with Mr. Foster?” Eve asked.

“Actually, Martin responded really well to Craig. Craig loved what he did, you could tell.”

“But you were called in for meetings.”

“Oh, yeah.” She laughed now. “They term Martin ‘exuberant,’ which is teacher-speak for a wild child. We’re going the private school route because there’s more one-on-one time, more discipline. It’s working.”

There was a crash, hysterical laughter, and mad barking. Eileen smiled wryly. “Mostly.”

“What about other staff? Reed Williams, for example.”

“Sure I know him.” Though she said it casually, her gaze shifted away, for just a moment.

“Did you see him outside of the school, Mrs. Ferguson?”

“No. Not me.”

“Meaning others did.”

“Maybe. I don’t see what that has to do with Craig.”

“Details are important. We understand Mr. Williams had or pursued a number of sexual relationships.”

“Oh, boy.” She blew out a breath. “He made what you could call a play—very subtle, very slick. Nothing I could call him on if I’d been inclined to. But you know when a man’s feeling you out. And most men know when a woman’s not interested. He backed right off. I’ve never had any trouble with him, or from him.”

“But others did?”

“Look, I know he hit on Jude Hadley. She told me, and she told me she met him for drinks. She’s divorced, and she was tempted. Then she decided no, it wasn’t something she wanted to get tangled up with. Especially since I saw Williams and Allika Straffo.”

“You saw them…?” Eve prompted.

“At the holiday party at the school? It was just a…” She shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “I saw how they looked at each other. And at one point, he touched her, just brushed his hand down her arm. But she pinked up. He wandered out, and a few seconds later, so did she. They came back separately, ten, fifteen minutes later. She had that look—you know, soft and loose. If they hadn’t had a quickie I’ll eat that damn droid pup.”

“Interesting,” Eve said as they stepped back into the chill of winter. “Allika Straffo, mother of one of the kids who finds the vic, is reputedly having quickies with Williams, who had the opportunity to kill Foster.”

“And Foster threatened to report Williams, which would involve Allika Straffo? Okay, but I tell you, I can’t see Williams getting worked up enough to poison Foster over the threat of being reported for having an affair with a student’s mother.”

“Straffo, on the other hand, is married, and married to a powerful man. She might’ve gotten worked up enough.”

“No record of her in the building on the day of.”

“Her kid was.”

“Her…Comeon, Dallas. You think she set her kid up as a hit man. Hit girl. Hit kid.”

“Maybe the kid was protecting Mommy.”

“Okay, wait.” Peabody climbed into the car. “First, let’s remember we’re talking about a ten-year-old girl.”

“Kids have been known to kill.” She’d only been eight when she’d killed her father. When she’d stabbed him over and over and over.

“Yeah, generally out of panic, fear, rage, impulse. But generally a nice, upper-class ten-year-old girl doesn’t spike the teacher’s go-cup with ricin. It’s a little extreme.”

“Yeah, it is. Maybe she didn’t know she was poisoning him. Mom says, ‘Hey, let’s play a game. Let’s trick Mr. Foster today.’”

“It’s pretty hard for me to swallow that a mother gets her kid to off a teacher because she’s been having private lessons from another.”

No, Eve decided, it didn’t bounce very well. Still. “It’s worth dropping by and chatting with her.”

The Straffos’ penthouse topped a sleek silver bullet of a building that afforded river views from its shimmering glass windows and wide terraces.

Both the doorman and building security were appropriately snooty, but also efficient enough to verify the police identification and clear them within moments.

The door of the penthouse was opened by a young woman with freckles dusting a wholesome face that was topped by carrot-red hair. Her brogue was as thick as a slice of brown bread.

It gave Eve a quick hitch in the belly to hear it, to think of Roarke.

“The missus will be right with you. She and Rayleen are just finishing breakfast. What would you like me to bring you then? Coffee, tea?”

“We’re good, thanks. What part of Ireland are you from?”

“I’m from Mayo. Do you know it?”

“Not really.”

“It’s lovely, so you’ll see if you have the chance to visit. I’ll take your coats, shall I?”

“That’s all right.” Eve followed her down the wide foyer—a sweep of steps to the right, open archways leading to open rooms with tall, tall windows. “How long have you worked for the Straffos?”

“That’d be six months now. Please make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the sleek twin sofas plumped with gel pillows. There was a fireplace, flush and white against the wall, the flames turned on in an eerie blue that matched the fabrics. Tables were clear cubes with lush flowers spiking and trailing inside them.

“Are you sure I can’t bring you something hot to drink? It’s a cold one out there today. Ah, here comes the missus now. And there’s our princess.”