Page 52 of Festive in Death

“But you have your suspicions,” Eve finished.

“I do. Kyria was pretty upset when I found out, when I pushed her about what happened. She finally told me how he kicked her out right after she did it with him. She said how she wanted to stay, she didn’t feel good, didn’t feel like she could get home on her own. And he said women didn’t stay in his place unless they paid for it. Said maybe he’d let her stay till morning for a thousand. Girl didn’t have that kind of money on her, so he tossed her out.”

He stared down into his power drink. “I figure he got women to pay. Everybody knew he banged clients—that’s up to the client, to my way of thinking. Not my business. But when you charge money, that’s not legal without a license. Maybe he had one.”

Rock shrugged again, drank again. “But I don’t think so.”

“We appreciate the information, and the time.”

“Are you going to have to talk to Kyria?”

“We may.”

He let out a long breath, stared down at what was left of his drink. “Go easy, will you? She’s embarrassed it happened. Put it behind her the way you should with mistakes. But she’s embarrassed.”

“Understood.” Eve walked to the office door, opened it, turned back. “I like your place.”

His grin spread, quick, bright, added unexpected charm to his face. “You box?”

“I fight.” Eve smiled back. “There’s a difference.”

Peabody waited until they were outside, then poked a finger in Eve’s biceps. “You liked him. You don’t think he did it because you like him.”

“I liked him. I know he didn’t do it because he’d have used his fists. I know he didn’t do it because the vic would never have opened the door to him much less taken him back into the bedroom. There would’ve been signs of struggle, of a fight. Alternately, if Britton had grabbed the trophy on impulse, rage would have jumped right in with it. He wouldn’t have settled for two blows. He’d have beaten Ziegler’s head in, and he’d have gone for the face, too. The ‘pretty face’ Ziegler was so proud of.”

“Oh, well, when you put it that way. But you still liked him.”

“He said right out he hated Ziegler and wasn’t sorry he was dead. That takes balls. He resisted caving in Ziegler’s face and/or skull months ago when the sister thing happened. That takes control. I like balls. I respect control.”

“Are we going to talk to the sister, the mom?”

“I don’t see any reason to rush that.” Time, to Eve’s mind, to circle back around. “We’re going back to do a follow-up with Natasha Quigley.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because she’s lying. She slept with Ziegler. I figured it for a lie yesterday. I’m more sure of it now. She’s good-looking, wealthy, a client. Married. She’s a prime target. We’ll go shake it out of her.”

“Okay. Why would she lie, especially when she could’ve jumped right on the he-gave-me-tea-too gambit?”

“First, because we didn’t know for certain the tea was laced, and that possibility came out after she’d already—pretty vehemently—denied having sex with the vic.”

“That’s right.” Peabody pulled her earflaps down more securely. “We’ve got so many women either saying they paid him for sex, or saying they paid him to keep it quiet after tea-induced sex, we’re going to need a spreadsheet. Or a chart.” She brightened a little. “I like making charts. Anyway, if that’s first, what’s second?”

“Second, because it’s just easier to say no, not me.”

“It is. And it’s knee-jerk, too, at least from the women I’ve interviewed.”

“And third, I bet she was weirded knowing she and her sister had slept with the same guy.”

“That would be weird.” Peabody piled in the car. “My sister—the one closest to my age—and I had a serious thing for the same guy when we were teenagers. So we took an oath that neither of us would move on it. We fought about it first, but we took an oath.”

Peabody settled back. “It turned out he’d have rather our brother moved on him, but we didn’t catch that until we’d taken the oath. Zeke didn’t move on him because he’s not into guys that way, but he’d’ve sworn an oath otherwise.

“It’s going to be great seeing them all on Christmas. I wonder what ever happened to... What the hell was his name? Stanley, I think. Yeah, Stanley Physter. But he wanted everyone to call him Stefano.”

“And you didn’t get the gay?”

“Huh. Good point.”

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