Page 49 of Festive in Death

“I guess that’s the term for it, yeah.”

“When did this happen?”

“A couple of months ago. No, more like six weeks, I guess. Not my finest moment.”

“He came here? An at-home massage? Training session?”

“A combo. We’d done that—not the sex—a couple times before. My assistant, too. I gave him extra to work with her a couple times. It was fun.”

“Was your assistant here for this one?”

“No.”

Her right leg, crossed over the left, began to swing. Eve read irritation and nerves in the movement.

“Look, do we have to go over every damn detail? I had sex with him, I paid him. It’s humiliating. But I didn’t kill him.”

“What did you have to drink?”

“Jesus Christ.” Robbins shoved up, threw her hands in the air. “I was doing a workout. I wasn’t drinking. Some tea. Just some herbal tea he made. I iced it, and it was nice enough.”

“Did he light incense?”

“So what?” But Robbins’s eyebrows drew together, and she sat again. “Yes. Right before the massage. The massage that wasn’t a massage because I decided I’d rather have sex. How do you know about the incense, what do you care about the tea?”

Color dropped out of her face. “Jesus, Jesus, did he drug me? Oh God, did he give me something?”

“We believe Ziegler routinely gave at-home clients, potentially others, a date-rape drug in the guise of tea, and accentuated it with incense that was also laced.”

“I see.” She pressed her lips together, looked away. “That explains it. I wasn’t attracted to him that way, simply wasn’t, but that evening... I initiated it.” Her voice trembled a little. She picked up her glass again, drank slowly. “I initiated it almost as soon as I was on the massage table.”

“No, you didn’t,” Eve said. “He initiated and took your choice away when he gave you the drug without your knowledge.”

“I don’t know how to feel about this.” She pressed the cold glass to her forehead. “I don’t know how to feel. I was raped when I was sixteen by a boy I thought liked me. He slipped me something, too. Not enough, because I didn’t really drink much, just enough I felt weird and off. Not enough, so I said no. And when I said no, he held me down. He hurt me, and he forced me. And I didn’t tell anyone, I was so ashamed. It was years before I told anyone, and came to terms with it. Now this.”

She closed her eyes again. “Trey didn’t force me. He didn’t hurt me.”

“Yes, he did.” Eve’s flat tone had Robbins opening her eyes again. “He didn’t hold you down or put bruises on you, but he forced you. He raped you.”

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Her eyes filled. Eve watched her wage a fight against them. Win it.

“Now I have to come to terms with it again. I will. Well, back to therapy.” She lifted her glass in toast. “What fun.”

“I can give you a contact for a rape center,” Peabody told her.

“That’s okay. I have a shrink on tap. I don’t have an alibi, and it looks like I had a motive. I didn’t kill him, but I’m sure as hell glad he’s dead. What happens now?”

Eve rose. “We talk to other people in your situation. And if we find out you’re lying and you did kill him, we’ll be back to arrest you.”

“Great. Terrific.” Robbins managed a weak smile. “That’s still a fabulous coat.”

•••

On the way down to the lobby, Peabody brooded.

“Don’t sulk over it,” Eve ordered. “Spill it.”

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