Page 66 of Obsession in Death

“Well, he is loosely basing the central character of his book of the century on you.”

It would’ve creeped her out if Eve believed the horndog would stop banging grad students long enough to actually write an entire book.

“Which explains some of the obsession in the correspondence.”

“That,” Peabody put in, “and he figures once the two of you bang it out, he’ll be your new expert consultant, civilian, you’ll ditch Roarke and bring along a nice fat settlement so the two of you can live in the lap while you solve crime. That was my take.”

“You’re not wrong.”

Was there anything more exhausting than having complete strangers build fantasies and scenarios around you?

“Take it home, Peabody. Check on the last of the threesome—and the people he claimed to be with at Bastwick’s time of death.”

“The people he joined on what he called an emotional, intellectual, and physical exploration? I call that an orgy.”

“Who wouldn’t? I’m going to work from home. Here.” Eve dug in her pocket, pushed credits on Peabody. “Take a cab.”

“What? The subway’s only a couple blocks.”

“Take a cab. It’s cold. And I’m not spending my fat settlement on that horndog, so you benefit.”

“Lucky me. Thanks.”

Eve started for the car. “If you have any orgies with McNab, do it early and get some sleep. We’re going to have another tomorrow. There’ll be another.”

“We could get lucky.”

Eve glanced up toward the windows of the asshole she’d just interviewed. “Not so far.”

When Eve arrived home she sat in the car a moment, studying the holiday decorations—trees and candles in the windows, lights strung, greenery swagged.

Considering it, she carted file bags into the house.

“Should I assume an impending apocalypse,” Summerset wondered, “as you’re home early and show no signs of injury?”

Eve eyed him narrowly as she shrugged out of her coat. “Should I assume you have a pulse as the cadaver I just visited shows more signs of life than you? When do they come to take this stuff down?” she asked, gesturing wide to indicate the decorations.

“Traditionally on Twelfth Night.”

“When the hell is that?”

“January fifth. The company will begin and complete the removal while you and Roarke are scheduled to be away.”

“Okay.” So no chance the killer could come in posing as one of the crew while she wasn’t around, because she wasn’t going anywhere until she had him.

She remembered the surprise on Christmas Eve, and the blueprints Roarke showed her. “When does work on the dojo start?”

“Right after the holiday.”

“January second.” Might have to hold off on that, which was too damn bad, but she didn’t want anyone in the house she didn’t know. “Mix up your routine,” she told him as she started up the stairs. “Your out-of-the-house routine. The shopping, the visiting gravesites, haunting houses with the other ghouls—whatever it is you do. Mix it up for the next few days.”

“I have a scheduled haunting tonight, but it can be postponed.”

“Good, do that.” She glanced back. “Seriously. And...” She thought of Nadine, nearly smiled. “Watch your six.”

She went straight to her office, updated her board, set up for reviewing the discs from Nadine, from Mason, intended to update her book with the details of her interview with the horndog.

But the headache plagued her, and her own face staring back from the board brought on a simmering fury she couldn’t seem to bank.

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