Page 20 of Celebrity in Death

“But she’s not. You’d better go get our girl, and a field kit if you’ve got one.”

“In the limo.”

“Good. Tell McNab to secure the house—nobody leaves—and to find out if there’s any security running up here. Don’t let anybody but Peabody come up.”

“All right.” He looked at the body a moment longer. “A bad end to the evening.”

“It sure was for her.”

As Roarke went down, Eve took her communicator out of her stupid little purse and called in a suspicious death. Then fixed her recorder on the narrow strap of her party dress.

“Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, on record,” she began.

Broken glass, she noted, and a puddle of red wine, likely from the bottle open on the bar inside.

“The victim is visually ID’d as K.T. Harris.”

She filled in details for the record: the location, the reason for the victim’s presence, the names—including her own and Roarke’s—of the other people in attendance.

“Broken glass and spilled wine here. I observed an open bottle of wine inside the attached lounge.” She stepped to the side, noted a topless pedestal. “Six herbal cigarette butts in this receptacle. The victim’s purse is on the table here, opened.”

She crouched, careful not to touch until she could seal up. “I see lip dye, a small black case, an undetermined amount of cash, and a key card. The victim is wearing the dress she had on all evening as well as the jewelry, the wrist unit. Her left shoe is in place, bunged up on the heel. I see the right one at the bottom of the pool.”

She turned, deliberately blocking the body when she heard Peabody come out.

“If you can’t handle this, I need to know. It’s understandable. It’s acceptable.”

“I didn’t drink that much. I was too nervous and excited. But I took a Sober-Up anyway.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Peabody moistened her lips, and the girls-on-display quivered a little. “I can handle it.”

Saying nothing, Eve stepped aside.

“Oh...” Peabody’s eyes went wide, a little glassy. “’Kay. Maybe I need a minute.”

“Take what you need. Go inside, tag the bottle of wine on the bar. Roarke’s bringing up a field kit. We need to seal up before we get started. I called it in. We’ll have some uniforms to secure the area.”

“Got it.” Peabody stepped back inside.

One scenario, Eve thought, as she studied the scene, the body: Harris comes up to smoke, drink, stew. Slips, thanks to drinking and the mile-high heels, takes a header into the pool and drowns. A simple, stupid accident.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

“Could be an accident,” she said when Peabody came out again. “Too much to drink, risky shoes, oops. The water’s only about three feet deep. She goes in hard, hits her head.”

“She was knocking them back steady during dinner.”

“So, maybe an accident. Take a look around outside the pool dome, see if you can find anything that indicates she had company up here.”

“Okay, but I’m fine now.”

“Good.” She nodded as Roarke walked out with the field kit. “Seal up, see what you can find.”

Eve opened the field kit. “What’s the temperature down below?” she asked Roarke.

“McNab’s got it under control. He has everyone, including staff, in the living area. He said unless you wanted it otherwise, he’d shift the staff to the kitchen once the uniforms arrive.”

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