Page 12 of Celebrity in Death

“So I heard.” His eyes blazed blue as he studied her face. “Damn bad timing. I’m hoping you find some time to come down to the studio,” he said to Roarke with another fast grip and grin.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Damn near wrapped. I don’t want to jinx it but so far this project’s been smooth as a baby’s ass.” He had his sharp bluebird eyes on Eve again, one hand tugging at his goatee. “You’ve been the only wrinkle. Can’t get you to consult, take meetings, do lunch, interviews.”

“It’s still murder.”

“Ha!”

“Mason, you’re hogging our centerpiece.” A curvy brunette wearing lipstick red with glinting sapphires glided up. “I’m Connie Burkette, Mason’s wife. Welcome.”

“I’m an admirer,” Roarke told her.

She purred. “Nothing lovelier to hear from a gorgeous man. Let me return the compliment to you, and to you,” she said to Eve. “Mason’s been saturated with this project for nearly a year now. And when he’s saturated, I get soaked. I feel like I already know both of you. So, champagne, wine? Something stronger?”

At the most subtle of signals one of the staff passing flutes of champagne sidled over.

“This is good. Thanks.” Eve took a glass.

“Your dress is fabulous. You wear Leonardo, don’t you?”

“He’s a little big for me.”

Connie laughed, an easy, throaty sound that went with her slumberous brown eyes. “That he is. I loved meeting him and Mavis. She’s a true and unique delight. And the baby! What a beauty. Now come along with me, see your old friends, your new ones.”

“Dallas!” Marlo, sleek in a sheath of dull bronze, rushed forward. “I’m so glad you made it. Peabody said you’d already closed the case. Isn’t that amazing?” she said to Connie. “They caught a killer within hours.”

“It’s not hard when the killer’s a moron,” Eve commented.

“Aren’t the two of you something?” Connie caught one of Eve’s hands, one of Marlo’s in turn, and made Eve wonder if everybody in Hollywood felt compelled to touch.

“I’ve known Marlo for years,” Connie continued, “but seeing you both side by side is, well, surreal. There are differences, of course.” Angling her head, Connie looked them both up and down. “Marlo’s a bit shorter, and your eyes are longer in shape—and without the makeup Marlo lacks the little chin cleft—but at a quick glance, it’s—”

“A little spooky,” Eve finished.

“It is.”

“Joel wanted me to have the cleft done surgically—the producer,” Marlo added.

“You’re not kidding.”

“I’m not. Joel tends to go over the top. But it’s what makes him the best.”

“I shaved my head for him for Unreasonable Doubt,” Connie said. “But in that case he and Mason were right. And I have the Oscar to prove it.”

“It wasn’t the shaved head that netted you the Oscar. It was brilliance.”

“See why I keep this beautiful young thing around?” Connie asked. “Oh, that must be Charlotte Mira.”

Eve glanced back. “Yeah. That’s Dr. Mira and her husband, Dennis.” God, he was cute, Eve thought, in his spiffy suit and mismatched socks. She felt more relaxed just looking at him.

“I need to introduce myself. Take care of our star, Marlo.”

“You know I will. She’s magnificent,” Marlo said when Connie walked toward the Miras. “She’s the classiest actor, and woman, I know. She and Roundtree have been married—first time for both—for over twenty-five years. That’s a good run for anybody, but a miracle in our business, especially when both are in the business.”

Then she stared over Eve’s shoulder, blinked. “Oh my.”

“Ladies.”

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