Page 67 of Passions in Death
“Not impossible, so that makes it possible.”
But, Eve wondered, could the person Erin trusted trust someone else that much?
“Yeah, possible. You could check the insurance, see how much she invested in the art. That could play in. She spent her hard-earned money to support the woman she wanted, and the woman didn’t want her back. ‘Let’s just be friends’ is the world’s worst insult.”
“And here I thought it was: ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
“They’re the same thing.” She turned to him. “If I ever dumped you, it would totally be you and not me.”
“I appreciate that, darling, and the same goes.” Amused, he pulled her in for a quick kiss. “I’ll go see about the art.”
“Good. I’m going to take another look at Shauna’s exes. Stillwater’s out of it. His alibi’s concrete, plus they didn’t have the feelings, the passion. That was affection and convenience.”
When she turned back to her command center, Galahad sat next to her comp. Looking, she realized, weirdly like the stuffed cat Roarke had once given her.
Walking back, she sat, gave him as hard a stare as he did her. “You know, you never freak when I come home with blood on my boots, with boots smelling like death.”
He blinked his bicolored eyes once.
“Because that’s the job. Well, when I’m investigating, I sometimes run into somebody’s pet rat dog. And that’s the job, too. Found you on the job, didn’t I?”
She reached out, scratched him lightly between the ears. “The difference is, I brought you home.”
He nuzzled his head under her hand, purred.
Feelings, she thought when he curled up on her command center as if to keep an eye on her.
Passions, anger, jealousy.
It fit here, and it fit in the murder of Erin Albright.
She opened the file on Rierdon. As she read, as she dug, she checked the time.
Not too late—though Roarke would probably disagree.
She contacted the mutual friend, Jodi, who’d been at the party, who threw her own parties. To remain a suspect, Rierdon had to have known about the bride party—the when and where.
But the conversation with Jodi, and the three-way conversation with her and her cohab, ended inconclusively.
Didn’t recall mentioning it, but maybe.
So maybe, Eve thought. It didn’t explain the swipes, the case, and those remained major sticking points. No reason she could come up with for Erin to have trusted him, asked him to do the favor.
More the opposite, she admitted.
Back to high school, she decided, and took a deeper dive on Greg Barney.
Nothing, she thought, just nothing popped. An ordinary guy, a regular guy. And sure, they killed, but nothing in his background, in his current living situation stood out.
Financially… Roarke would make sure, but financially, he looked clean. Ordinary again. No gallery purchases she found. Maybe he’d bought some of her sidewalk art, paid cash.
Maybe he had some through gifts, or through Becca DiNuzio. Would they bother with insurance for that?
Doubtful.
Still, she rose to pace and play with the angle.
Say they had a couple of pieces. And he could ask Shauna for another, in memory. Cash in when the value went up.
