Page 63 of Passions in Death
“I should buy the painting?”
“If her parents, or whoever’s in charge, will sell it. I’d buy it for you, but I think it’s the same as buying this place. It wouldn’t be the same. You should buy it for yourself.”
She hadn’t thought of it, but now…
“Maybe. I don’t know if that’s weird again.”
“I don’t think so.” He poured their wine when the server brought the carafe.
“I’ll think about it, but first we find who killed her so she’ll never paint another. So far, I’m leaning toward exes. One of Erin’s, two—possibly three—of Shauna’s. You put an ex on somebody, no matter how it happens, there’s a dig in there. A lot of times that dig keeps getting deeper instead of filling in.”
He listened while she ran it through, and when the pizza arrived, put a slice on her plate, then his.
“You’re leaning away from the bootie buddy.”
“Leaning away, but not crossing off entirely. He doesn’t feel right for it,” she admitted. “But again, Erin got in his way. When and if Shauna wants to pick things up again, he’s right there.”
“Sex is powerful, but sex alone as a motive?”
“That’s what we’ve got, so far. Weak, yeah.”
She lifted the slice, took a bite. And yes, it took her back, back to where everything was new and bright and, most of all, free.
“But under sex is resentment, maybe a sense of betrayal. I sure as hell felt that from Lopez. ‘You chose her over me? And now you ask me to help you give her this big deal? This dream? Screw that.’”
“And Shauna’s exes.”
“Starts the same. Rejection, betrayal. Then wait a damn minute, now she’s with a woman? What does that make me? Was she faking it with me? Pretending? Using me? Asking him to help with the surprise, that’s both insult and opportunity.”
“But he doesn’t target the one who rejected him.”
“Maybe he still wants her. Maybe he wants to soothe his ego, maybe both. So remove the obstacle.”
She ate more pizza. “Still weak, but it’s what we’ve got. It’s not money, it’s not some deep secret, I don’t find envy. What I find is personal. Sex, passion, rejection, betrayal. Add making a mistake—the way Lopez sees it. The timing, Roarke, days before the wedding, and at a party. That counts, too.”
She picked up her wine. “Everyone I’ve looked at? No major criminal, clean finances, no signs of gambling, addictions. They’re a tight group, close in proximity, a tribe. Peabody calls the women a tribe. I guess that makes the male portions just outside that, but they connect, too.”
“Why don’t I take a closer look at the financials? Of the victim, her fiancée, and your top suspects?”
“If you can’t find anything there, it absolutely eliminates that as any sort of a motive.”
“Plus, entertaining for me. You said her art was good.”
“I thought so. So did Peabody. And apparently so does the woman who runs the gallery where she had a show, and sold the paintings that paid for Maui.”
“Her art will likely be worth more now. Dead artist, it often follows.”
Eve’s eyes narrowed. “That’s an angle. Some of this tribe has some of her art. And then the gallery. She didn’t have a will. Most people her age, and in her financial bracket, don’t bother. So do the paintings go to her parents—next of kin—or to Shauna?”
“Next of kin would be the legal answer, I’d think. Some sort of combination would likely be the emotional choice.”
“Yeah, they’d probably work something out, and add some of her friends in, too.”
She went back to pizza. “But how much could it come to? And still,” she added, “people kill for less than whatever that may be. It’s a good angle.”
“Happy to oblige.”
Like in the painting, a waitress walked by with a tray. People ate slices, wound pasta, drank wine.
