Page 35 of Passions in Death
“Marcus Stillwater.”
“Let me check for you. Oh, I’m so sorry, Mr. Stillwater is currently in a meeting. Could I—”
Eve flashed her badge. “Maybe he could step out.”
“Oh! Oh my goodness! Let me just—”
She jumped up and fled through a glass door to the right of the counter.
Watching her go, making damn good time on skinny red heels, Eve rocked back and forth on her sturdy boots. “What do you bet she, or somebody she knows well, had some trouble with the cops?”
“Not taking that bet. She flew like a bird.”
“People never say she flew like a shuttle—faster than a bird. It’s always a bird.”
As she waited, Eve took a look around the small lobby. A little waiting area with dark gray seats, a couple of tall green plants in black pots, a scatter of strange, splashy art.
Two people in business suits came in, both with go-cups, and bounced numbers and statistics between them as they went through the glass door on the left of the counter.
A man came through the other door.
If he’d had a jacket and tie, he’d ditched them. His fitted dress shirt showed off good shoulders. He had a crop of loosely curled sun-streaked blond hair around a vid-star face.
Perfect proportions, a subtle tan, arctic blue eyes, and a smile as bright and warm as a summer sun.
He held out a hand. “Marcus Stillwater. I’m sorry, Dora didn’t get your name.”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody.”
“Well, Lieutenant, Detective, I’m more than a little pressed today, but why don’t we take a seat here for a few minutes?”
“Your office would be better. Have you spoken with Shauna Hunnicut this morning?”
His smile wavered a little. “No, as I said, I’m pressed today. Is she in trouble? I can’t imagine it, not police trouble. Wait, wait. Last night was the party, wasn’t it? Party at the D&D.”
Now he shook his head, laughed. “Don’t tell me Shauna did the crazy and needs bail. I’m going to say, good for her, and I can take care of that. I can send someone down asap to—wherever. What did she do?”
“Mr. Stillwater, it’s best if we speak in your office.”
Now the smile dropped completely and he gripped Eve’s arm. “Is she hurt?”
“Sir—”
“For fuck’s sake, tell me.”
“She’s not hurt, she doesn’t need bail. Erin Albright was murdered last night.”
Beneath the tan, he went pasty. “Is this some sort of a sick joke?”
“No. If we could continue this in your office?”
“I just—” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Hanna, let Bill and Tricia know I had an emergency.”
He led the way through the door, and, Eve noted, a maze with a pecking order. Cubes, take a turn, desks, small meeting rooms, another turn, offices.
He stepped into one, waited, then closed the door behind Eve and Peabody.
“What happened? Tell me what happened. Sorry, sit. Should I tag Shauna? Don’t tell me she’s alone. I can—”
