Page 35 of Festive in Death

“You’ve never mentioned next of kin.”

“Only child, parents divorced when he was ten. Both remarried. He bounced between the mother in Tucson and the father in Atlanta until he was of age. Neither of them have seen him for more than six years. They were both shaken, but I didn’t get any sense of close family ties.”

“So no friends or family.”

“Not really. And from what I can tell, by his own choice. Friends and family take work.”

She thought of her forty-minute battle for sanity with Tiko and the bag people. Fucking A, it took work.

“All his work was focused on himself,” she added. “Speaking of family, I guess you got all the gifts off to Ireland.”

“I did, yes. You did some work there.”

“I didn’t shop.”

“You helped me decide on several things, and the Cops and Robbers comp game for young Sean was your idea.”

“He was an easy one. Peabody and McNab are doing an in-and-out shuttle for Christmas to her family. You don’t want to do something like that, do you?”

“We had Thanksgiving, and that worked well for me, having them all here. I like having our Christmas, you and I.”

“I do, too. And since I’d really like to get this case closed before that, I’d better get going. Good pancakes,” she said, leaned over and kissed him.

“I’ll see you tonight. We might talk about strategy for the deal you’ve made with Summerset.”

“I’m trying not to think about that.” She shoved up. “Where’s the hooch—for Dickhead?”

“Fourth-floor gift room.”

She stared at him for ten silent seconds. “We have a gift room?”

On a half laugh, he shook his head. “One day, darling Eve, you really should go through the entire house. East wing, fourth-floor tower.”

“Okay.” Since she wasn’t completely sure where that was, she walked to the elevator. Ordered it.

“Don’t bother shaking boxes,” he called out. “None of yours are in that location.”

“I don’t snoop,” she said as the doors shut.

But, of course, now she wanted to.

Gift rooms, she thought. Who gave so many gifts they had to have an actual dedicated room to hold them?

The doors opened; she stepped out. Her jaw dropped.

Apparently they did.

Shelves and counters held a colorful array of wrapped gifts with shiny, elaborate bows. Gift bags in silver or gold or red or green stood like uniformed soldiers.

She opened one of the doors along the wall, discovered more shelves with rigorously organized gifts not wrapped. Fancy candle sets or fancy bath sets—male, female, or unisex varieties.

Boxed wineglasses, elegant picture frames, electronics, even some toys.

Why the hell did she have to go shopping when she could just come up here?

She found more ruthless—to the point of scary—organization with gift boxes, wrapping paper, tissue paper, ribbons and bows.

Everything as pristine as some high-end gift boutique and all in the tall tower room complete with a wall screen and a comp. She just bet the comp held a complete catalog of the contents of the room, down to the last inch of shiny ribbon.

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