Page 82 of Bonded in Death

“Spy training!”

Eve ignored Peabody’s delight.

“But she’s wired to be polite, discreet on top of that. Ivanna’s not the type to just come out and say Potter was an asshole.”

“I’ll say it.” Marjorie glided in. “Conrad was an asshole. Skilled, nearly brilliant, but an absolute prick.”

“Care to elaborate?” Eve invited.

“I’d be delighted, especially if you have something stronger than tea or coffee.”

“I can make that happen.”

“Then, my darling copper, I’d adore a G and T. Gin and tonic,” she added.

“Peabody, see if the AC runs to one of those.”

“Sure.” As she rose, Peabody noticed Marjorie’s eyes sparkled, but with tears. “Dame Wright, did something happen?”

“I’m a bit emotional. Ivan and Cyril arrived, and it struck me, and very hard, that we’re what’s left of us. So a G and T, if you’d be so kind, to fill the crack in my heart.”

“I bet telling us how Potter was an asshole will lift your spirits.”

Marjorie grinned at Eve, then did that head-toss laugh. “Oh, I’m going to like you. Both of you. And I’m going to flirt outrageously with your gorgeous husband. Do you have one, Detective? A spouse?”

“I’ve got a guy.”

“Is he adorable?”

“I think so.”

“Then I’ll flirt outrageously with him if I get the chance. That’s my wiring. Oh, a thousand blessings on you,” she said when Peabody brought her a tall gin and tonic with a slice of lime. “Cheers.”

She took a sip, breathed out. “You’re quite right about Vanna’s wiring. I, on the other hand, have no problem being impolite and indiscreet. If you’d asked her outright if she’d liked Potter, she wouldn’t have lied. Not that she can’t and won’t lie, considering her stellar career, but she won’t lie to you. And certainly not about Shark. Bloody hell, I refuse to call him that—those names were ours. I slipped.”

She drank again, then set the glass down. “You’re recording this?”

“It’s necessary.”

“I have no issue with that, nor with saying I didn’t like Conrad Potter.”

She wore diamonds as well, two little hoops of them in one ear, one in the other.

“Did I trust him? Absolutely. We had to trust each other, and I believed he’d earned that trust. But on a more personal level? Wanker. He considered my work—as an actor—barely legitimate. The cinema? Pabulum for the masses. And Cyril, being gay? Earned more than one smirk or look of contempt.”

She shrugged. “He was more subtle, more careful with Leroy, who was Black, Iris, mixed race, but you only had to scratch the surface to see the bigotry. And there was a level of that as well for Summerset, Vanna, Ivan, Gio for coming from outside Britain.”

“Doesn’t sound like a team player.”

“Well, he wasn’t, was he?” Lifting her glass, Marjorie sipped more of her drink. “He seemed to be, did the work, did it well, collaborated with all of us whenever necessary. Hindsight, Lieutenant. With hindsight, it’s clear to see he was more suited to the fringe groups we fought at the end than The Twelve.”

“Dame Wright,” Peabody began, and Marjorie flashed her a megawatt smile.

“Let’s make it Marjorie. We’re all just girls spilling the tea.”

“Golly. Ah, she means like gossiping,” Peabody told Eve. “I wondered, as Ivanna said Potter considered himself a ladies’ man, if he ever, well, moved on you.”

“Once. It only took once for me to shut that down, as I wasn’t the least bit interested. He had more of an eye for Alice, though he never tried anything there—as far as I know—as he was very aware when someone could and would crush him like a bug. Which Summerset could have done, but Alice would’ve done so first.

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