Page 107 of Passions in Death
“Sure, but sometimes it’s clean in a straightforward way, or crazy, impulsive, or purposeful. This is mean and stupid and personal.”
“Murder offends you.” Roarke brought the wine to the table. “It often makes you sad or angry—or both. This one also annoys you.”
She frowned at her board. “Guess it does.”
“You feel for the victim, always. You’re their agent of justice.”
“Eve Dallas, Agent of Justice.” On a half laugh, she rolled her eyes.
“It has a ring. You feel for those left behind, always. And when you look at that board, you know one of those claiming that loss took her life.”
“Yeah, but that happens.” Frustrated, and yes, annoyed, she shoved her hands in her pockets. “It happens more often than not.”
“And all that you handle, day after day. But for this you see that mean stupidity, a friend killing a friend and bringing grief to so many others they claim as friends, so many others who were on the verge of celebrating that victim starting a new phase of her life.”
She did see it. She did feel it. And yeah, she admitted, it seriously annoyed.
“That was the point, or part of it. Ending it before it began. When Casto came for me, in that same room at the same sort of deal, he didn’t care about any of that. He just needed to end me because I was too close to exposing him. That makes sense. It’s not stupid. It was logical.”
She gestured to the board with her wineglass. “This one cared about all of that.”
“Come eat now. You’re frustrating yourself.”
“I probably am.” She walked over, angled her head at the plates. Chicken glossy with sauce, a heap of fries, and the purple carrots she actually liked, mostly because purple. “That looks really good.”
She set down her wine, stepped over, and kissed him.
“That’s because I kicked Casto’s ass that night so now we can sit here and eat what looks really good.”
She took her seat, snagged a fry. “Looks aren’t deceiving here. Frustrating myself some,” she admitted. “I liked it better when the dead artist’s paintings’ value seemed like a viable angle.”
“Because murder for monetary gain at least has some logic.”
“Yeah, it would still be mean and stupid and a little sloppy, but you could see the logic. But that’s not it. Maybe, on some level, it adds a benefit because just about everyone on the board has at least one of her paintings. It’s just not the reason.”
She sampled the chicken, found whatever coated it had an excellent tang. When Roarke topped off her wine, she decided that was fine. She was just circling anyway.
Set it aside, she told herself. Let it circle, but set it aside.
“Why were you downtown?”
“A meeting at your Off Duty club.”
“You get a charge out of that, don’t you? Saying it’s my club.”
“As it is yours, and yes, I do. You already have tenants applying for Stone’s apartment above.”
“That asshole. Do I?”
“You do. Once we do some vetting, you can choose.”
“I can vet. I’m a cop.”
“That you are.” He smiled, a man who already knew the answer to the question. “Would you like to?”
“Absolutely completely not.”
“We’ll be interviewing for managers, bartenders, kitchen and waitstaff, and so on in another couple of months. Would you like to take lead on that?”
