Page 47 of Festive in Death

“I know! It’s a little scary.”

“Tube of Pepsi,” Eve told the vendor, glanced at Peabody.

“I already had a fizzy. Damn. Make mine a Diet Pepsi.”

“Okay.” With the dogs in hand, Eve turned back to Peabody. “Report,” she said and took her first bite.

“Louanne Parsons,” Peabody began as they started to walk. “I tapped her at work. She and a friend own a gift boutique in SoHo, not that I could afford anything in there. Anyway, she denied, initially, any sort of sexual encounter with the vic. She’s in a long-term monogamous relationship. But with a little prodding, she admitted to it. One time, she said. Just one time. She’d hurt her shoulder, and Ziegler came over to do a massage.”

“With tea.”

“You got it. Long and short, when I filled her in, she didn’t get mad, she started to cry. Just sat there, tears streaming. She didn’t strike me, Dallas. I didn’t get the tiniest buzz from her.”

“Alibi?”

“At the boutique until five, both her partner and a clerk verified. Says she went home, boyfriend got home from work around five-thirty, and they stayed home until eight. Went out, met friends for dinner. She said she was going to tell her boyfriend, all of it, and didn’t know what he’d think or do. They’ve been together six years. She asked if I’d give her time to do that before we told him.”

“We’ll toggle her down for now, and take a pass at the boyfriend. Maybe he found out, took care of Ziegler himself. Next?”

“Teera Blankhead. On her second marriage, money on both sides. Big converted loft in Greenwich Village. Three kids. One from his first, one from her first, one together. She admitted it, was pissy. What the hell business was it of mine? She went out of orbit when I told her the details. Cried, too, but she was raging while she cried.”

Peabody took another bite of her soy dog. “Man, why are street dogs so good? Anyway, Blankhead has a pretty sweet gym in her house, though she goes to the fitness center twice a week. She had Ziegler come over, twice a month for a personal session. He had the tea iced, called it an energy/detox blend. They ended up finishing the session by doing it on her yoga mat. Said she was pissed at herself after, that she and her first husband had both cheated, and she’d gone into this second marriage promising herself she wouldn’t, no matter what. She stopped the personal sessions after that, and kept it to the fitness center.”

Peabody sucked down soda. “She has a temper, and she’s tall—about your height—strong. She was believable, but I could see her picking up a blunt object and bashing Ziegler in a rage.”

“Whereabouts?”

“Charity lunch deal until about three. She says she opted to walk home, did some window-shopping. Older two kids had after-school activities, husband dinner and a basketball game with a couple friends, and the nanny had the youngest at a holiday party. She was alone at home until after seven, when the kids started coming in.”

“Then we keep her high on the list for now.”

Peabody stopped in front of a trim, whitewashed building. “Robbins lives here. Forty-two, currently single. Two previous cohabs, no marriages. She’s a writer. Fashion blogs and books. She has the entire fifth—top—floor of the building. I found an article on her,” Peabody explained as they walked to the entrance.

The building didn’t boast a doorman, but it did include door and lobby security. At the swipe of Eve’s master, a computerized voice requested her badge number for verification. Once she’d given it, the same tinny voice asked the nature of her business.

“It shouldn’t be any of yours,” Eve shot back. “Police business. We’re here to speak with Kira Robbins.”

Thank you for your cooperation. Ms. Robbins will be notified of your visit. Please wait.

“It just pisses me off on principle,” Eve said, moving across the polished concrete floor to the polished silver of the elevator. “Having a bunch of chips and circuits tell me what to do.”

She jammed the up button, scowled when the voice said:

One moment please. Ms. Robbins requests the nature of your business.

“You can tell Ms. Robbins that if she doesn’t engage this elevator, we’ll come back with a warrant and a lot more cops.”

Thank you. Your message will be relayed.

“Fucking A,” Eve replied, but seconds later, the elevator door opened. Inside, before she could order the fifth floor, the voice spoke again.

This car will now take you directly to Ms. Robbins’s residence, where she is expecting you. Please enjoy your visit and the rest of your day.

“Good God, do they ever shut up?” Eve wondered as the elevator smoothly rose. “I don’t get why people tell you to enjoy your day, much less machines. If they don’t know you, what the hell do they care?”

“No man is an island?” Peabody suggested.

“Why would anybody say that? An island’s a scoop of land floating around on a bunch of water.”

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