Page 68 of Passions in Death
It had to be more than that, she decided. But didn’t she have more? Sweethearts, parted by college, then reunited.
But one sweetheart is seeing someone else.
Let’s just be friends.
So he turns to—settles for?—the other high school girl. That keeps him close to the tribe, close to Shauna.
But wouldn’t tribes have their own rules, and wouldn’t not screwing around with the person a tribe member is screwing around with be at the top?
How do you make a move on the old girlfriend when she’s pals with your new girlfriend?
Very sticky ground, she concluded.
And how, she asked herself, would navigating that ground include murder?
On the other side of the scale, the victim would have trusted him. One of Shauna’s oldest friends, someone not invited to the party. He lived and worked close. And would she believe as one of Shauna’s oldest friends, he’d be happy with the surprise, happy to help pull it off?
Add no alibi. Just an ordinary guy, hanging out at home waiting for his girlfriend to come back from a girl party.
And see the flowers he picked up for her on his way home.
A non-alibi alibi, Eve considered. He’d been able to walk her through his steps—closing the shop, walking to the bar, having drinks with a pal, and so on.
She studied his photo on the board as Roarke came back in.
“He was pretty specific,” Eve muttered. “I’m going to think about that. You could do that.”
“I’m sure I could. Do what exactly?”
“Walk me through your day, times, people, meetings, meals. You keep a log in your head. Does he?”
“Who would that be?”
“Greg Barney, Shauna’s high school guy, and her best friend’s current cohab. He was pretty specific. Not like at nineteen-zero-two, I paused at the crosswalk. But close enough. But he didn’t mention the flowers. DiNuzio reminded him about the flowers. An oversight, or a ploy? An oh yeah, right, I stopped for flowers. That way you’re not absolutely specific.”
She started pacing again. “Like you don’t exactly remember the vid you were watching on-screen when you fell asleep on the sofa. Just some alien invasion thing. And that checks. Duplicates. Alien invasion deal available on the night in question. I bet if we checked that screen, that would’ve been playing at the time he said.”
“You’re looking at him now because he was able to walk you through his evening?”
“It’s one factor. They were the big-deal couple—what did he say… Shaunbar. Some people never get over high school. Maybe he’s one of them. Peabody was running through it today, mostly for the bullshit factor, but you know, it could play.”
She paced some more. “But the thing is, Shauna’s just not the type who’d jump back to him if he broke up with her best friend. That doesn’t play for me. But would he know that? He should, but… Ego’s blind.”
“That’s generally love.”
“Works with ego, too. She’ll be grieving, so she’ll be vulnerable. He’s right there to pick up deli meat and make her a sandwich.”
“Is that a new euphemism?”
“No, that’s literal. He was hovering—that’s what Becca called it, and it’s accurate. But shit, they all were in their way.”
She shook her head. “I have to let this cook awhile. What did you find out about Lopez and the art?”
“That she has a considerable collection. Again, a wise investment. In that collection are fourteen Erin Albrights, currently insured for fifty-eight thousand.”
“That’s a lot by one artist, isn’t it?”
“It is, but you have friendship, and you have, very likely, a taste for a certain style of art.”
