Page 82 of Treachery in Death

Eve tucked her com away again, smiled, said, “So.”

“So indeed. You made her very angry, then put some lace on it by making her think you double booked.”

“The last was just the whims of fate when you got in touch about a drink.”

“And she didn’t even finish hers.”

“Yeah, let’s take care of that.” Eve started to signal the waitress, spotted Roarke and Webster coming out of the snug. “I guess we need a bigger table.”

“Oh?” Darcia glanced over her shoulder. “Oh,” she said again, but with a kind of purr that had Eve’s antennae quivering. “Roarke.” She offered a hand. “Isn’t this fun? Detective.”

“Chief.”

Eve looked from Webster to Darcia, back again. This time she said, “Oh.”

“They’ve a bigger table for us,” Roarke announced with the glint in his eye of a man anticipating an interesting time. “You can have that beer, Webster, if you’re set on it, but I think this calls for the bottle of wine I took the liberty of ordering.”

“I’d love it.” Darcia stood, shifted to Webster. “Let’s see, an NYPSD lieutenant being monitored by EDD, and IAB on the scene. It appears the whims of fate had me walking in on some of your official business. I hope it’s not a problem.”

“No. No problem.” He pulled back her chair at the table for four.

“We enjoyed the show,” Roarke commented as he sat beside Eve.

“I came in just at the finale—but I believe I follow the story line. You’re looking at this Lieutenant Oberman for something—and as Dallas is involved, something must include murder.” She tipped her head to the side. “I’d vote for a dead junkie. Since Don’s here, it also involves an internal investigation.”

Don, Eve thought. Christ.

“We can’t really get into it,” Eve told her.

“Understood. But obviously we don’t like her. Though I did love her shoes. By the way, I bought three pairs at that fabulous little boutique you sent me to yesterday, Dallas.”

“Why?” Eve leaned forward. “Sincerely. I’ve always wanted to know why anyone buys multiple pairs of shoes at a time.”

“If I have to explain it, the joy is lost.”

“And how have you spent today?” Roarke asked her as the waitress brought four glasses and a bottle of red to the table.

“Shopping—I can’t stop myself—and I spent a wonderful two hours in the Metropolitan Museum. Had a late lunch.” She smiled at Webster when she said it.

A hot beam of a smile, Eve thought. Like a tropical sun.

Roarke sampled the wine, approved. “Plans for the evening?”

“The theater. My first Broadway musical. I’m looking forward to it. To all of it,” she added, then lifted her wine. “Since we’re about to enjoy this lovely wine, I assume both lieutenants are off duty.”

“Looks like it,” Eve murmured. “For now.”

“Good.” Darcia angled over, leaned in, kissed Webster—light, soft, like that tropical sun through palm fronds. “Hello.”

He grinned like a moron—in Eve’s opinion. “Hi.”

Eve raked a hand through her hair. “This is just weird.”

“I think it’s delightful.” Roarke lifted his glass. “To new friends.”

Roarke took the wheel for the drive home. “Are you sulking, darling?”

“I’m not sulking. I’m thinking. I have a lot on my mind.” Sulking, she thought. What a crock. And speaking of crocks. “What the hell are they thinking, starting this up? They don’t even live on the same planet.”

---