sat a moment. “We’ll run Cobbe, too, put out a BOLO, but let’s see who we’re about to talk to first.”
Peabody got in the passenger seat, not so discreetly slipped her feet out of her party shoes as McNab climbed in the back. “Tween is forty-two, a VP in distribution at Modesto. He’s worked for them for sixteen years. No criminal coming up. Married Galla Modesto six years ago—first and only marriage for both. Son, Angelo, age four.”
Eve pulled out, started the short drive to the Modesto/Tween residence.
“They purchased their New York residence five years ago. Tween works out of the New York headquarters. Got his net worth here at just under nine million.”
“Hers is more than ten times that,” Eve remembered. “There’s a fine motive added to her having an affair.”
“She broke it off,” Peabody pointed out, but Eve just shook her head.
“She had an affair, and more, if Stowe’s not full of it, fell in love. It takes a little time to arrange a hit, so there’s that. Then do you call it off because she called off the affair? Are you sure she did? Did she confess all? Doubtful. Either way, what’s to stop her from changing her mind, going back to her artist lover, taking her big mountain of money, and moving to Italy?”
Reluctantly, as Eve squeezed into a spot at the curb near the address, Peabody pushed her feet back into her shoes.
“I’ll stick here with this,” McNab said from the back. “Especially if I can get a fizzy from the AC.”
“Do that.”
He added a winsome smile. “Maybe you got some chips in here.”
“I don’t know what the hell’s in the AutoChef.” Leaving him to find out, Eve got out.
Peabody didn’t quite hide the wince when they started the half-block walk, crosstown.
“Why are you wearing those idiot shoes?”
“They’re pretty shoes! We went out dancing—date-night dancing. You need pretty shoes for date-night dancing. I didn’t know they were going to be work-a-case shoes.”
She moaned a little. “And they’re killing me.”
“Suck it up.”
“This is sucking it up. So Roarke knew this Cobbe back in Ireland?”
“Dublin, when he was a kid. I’ll get more details, but Cobbe let Roarke spot him. Wanted him to. Roarke says he’s a killer by nature and profession. I’ll get more details,” she said again, and stopped in front of the house to get a sense of it.
Three stories of whitewashed brick had an elegance, a quiet charm. The security light glowed pale green, but no glow came from the lights at either side of the front door.
The lights that would have welcomed someone home.
Windows stayed dark, so no one waited up for the woman who’d never come home again. Flowers spilled out of painted boxes on the windows flanking the door.
She caught the scent of something soft and sweet as she stepped up, pressed the buzzer.
The household has retired for the night. Please leave your name and contact information. If this is an emergency—
“NYPSD.” Eve cut off the computer, held up her badge. “Inform Jorge Tween the police need to speak with him.”
Please state the nature of your emergency.
“Your circuits are going to have an emergency unless Mr. Tween is informed the NYPSD is at the door. Scan the damn badge, and get it done.”
The scanner light swept her badge.
Your identity is verified, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Please wait.
“I hate those damn things.”
“You actually have those damn things. You know, on the gates, and on—”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t hate them. Not a light on inside,” Eve commented. “Your wife goes out to the gym, doesn’t come back in, say, an hour. Do you just turn off the lights and go to bed?”
“Doesn’t seem right,” Peabody agreed. “Even if you’re pissed at each other, it feels off. At least the lights here should be on if someone’s out. Who doesn’t do that?”
“Someone who’s not expecting anyone. It’s a little thing. It’s a petty little thing.”
Lights came on inside, flooding the windows with their cheerful flowers. Locks clicked.
The door opened for a woman of about fifty in a dark blue robe. Her dark hair tumbled around her face. Her eyes, gypsy brown, held fear and worry.
“You’re the police.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Once again, Eve held up her badge. “We need to speak to Mr. Tween.”
“Yes? The system alerted me. I’m the housekeeper. Please, excuse me, come in.”
She had an Italian accent and bare feet with toenails painted bold red.
Narrow tables stood on either side of the entrance. They held slender purple flowers in long, thin vases, reflected