Faithless in Death (In Death #52) - J.D. Robb Page 0,4

started downstairs, or somebody backing her financially. Rent in a space like this in the West Village wouldn’t come cheap.

She scanned the living area.

No sign of any disturbance.

A wall screen, and a sofa that looked comfortably saggy, covered in dark pink, bright blue, deep green stripes. A big, thick rug—probably in deference to her downstairs neighbor—covered most of the floor. An eating area defined by a square table in that same deep pink, four chairs, two in the blue and two in the green. Flowers in a stone—marble?—vase.

The flowers looked very fresh.

No clutter, she thought, unless you counted the art crammed on the walls. All kinds of art, some framed, some just tacked-up sketches.

She glanced in the kitchen. A single counter, and the bottle of red with maybe half a glass left. She marked it for the sweepers.

More wine, some cheese, some yogurt, some energy drinks in a refrigerator that looked as if it had done duty for a couple decades. An old AC—and she checked for last programmed.

No dishes in the sink.

She circled out and paused by the open door of a home office doubling as a guest room. Neat, uncluttered, colorful, Eve noted, with the bed made, the pillows plumped.

Someone—maybe the victim—had painted a mural on one wall, a street scene of sidewalk artists at their easels, cars blurring by.

She flagged the mini data and communication unit on the table under the window for EDD before continuing on.

The bathroom, clean again, simple. She opened the door of the mirrored cabinet over the sink to find some over-the-counter meds, organized by type. She took a moment to check the drawers and cabinet of the vanity before joining Peabody in the main bedroom.

Peabody stood, hands on hips, frowning at the room.

Two stands flanked the unmade bed, with a lamp and a print-dust-coated wineglass on each. The single horizontal window had a privacy screen—unengaged.

Peabody turned. “I wanted you to see it before I bagged the glasses. Prints on both. The vic’s on the one on the right of the bed. The ones on the left aren’t in the system. The lab’s going to find DNA on the glasses and these sheets.”

“Yeah, that’s not sleep mode. Did you check the drawers in the stands?”

“A tablet, her ’link, and a sketch pad and pencils in a case in the one on the right. Nothing on the left. No calls, texts, incoming or outgoing, on the ’link since mid-afternoon. Then just a text. I recorded the number, registered to a Gwendolyn Huffman.”

“What did it say?”

“Just: I’m looking forward to our sitting. The victim texted back she was, too, and the texter said she’d see her soon, and wouldn’t come empty-handed.”

“No time stated. Bag it for EDD. No condoms, no sex toys,” Eve added. “Not here, not in the bathroom. Closet?”

“Just clothes, shoes, a couple of handbags—one day, one evening. Two rolly bags, the small inside the large. She wasn’t a clotheshorse,” Peabody added as Eve walked to the closet to look herself.

“But you can see she organized what she had by type. Work clothes, street clothes, one basic black dress, a couple of what I’d call fun-night-out outfits. Shoes the same way. She’s got underwear, sleep clothes, workout gear, and that sort of thing in the dresser—organized by type again. One small drawer for jewelry—costume, arty, fun stuff. Everything’s tidy, Dallas, and nothing looks as if anyone went through it looking for anything.”

“No, not here, not anywhere else.”

“It bugs me.”

Yeah, it did, Eve thought, but turned. “Speak.”

“Okay, so you look around the place—her studio upstairs, the living space down here—and everything’s clean, really neat and tidy. Except for the art on the walls, she was a serious minimalist, and clearly liked everything clean and in its place.”

“Agreed.”

“No discarded shirt tossed on the little chair over there, no shoes kicked off anywhere to be put back on or put away later.”

“No dirty dishes—except those glasses,” Eve added. “The spread thing’s folded on top of the bench at the foot of the bed, but the sheets are tangled, half kicked off. Not sleep mode. Sex mode.”

“Maybe I can see leaving the bed messy—she’s going to smooth it out before coming back to sleep. That’s a little stretch considering how, you know, precise she was in her living style, but I don’t see her leaving those used wineglasses.”

“She used the kitchen AC at eighteen-ten last night to order up a single serving of chicken and rice with a side of brussels sprouts. Those dishes, and the ones