Vendetta in Death (In Death #49) - J. D. Robb Page 0,33

fly off to wherever it is they do the tango, and do that.”

“Argentina comes to mind.”

“Okay, there. Blind eyes are for wimps, idiots, or don’t-give-a-damn-anyways.”

“None of which you are.”

“You, either.”

“Agreed. I might take a page from your book on whomever my adored wife might cheat with. Then I’d buy up every coffee bean in the known universe, and burn them, as well as the plants they grow on.”

“That’s sick,” she said with feeling. “Sick and inhumane.”

“Ah well, that’s just me.” He took her hand, kissed her knuckles before pressing the buzzer on the McEnroy penthouse.

“Maybe it’s a weird thing to say after that, but I’m glad we’re us.”

The McEnroys are unavailable. Please respect the family’s privacy at this difficult time.

Eve held up her badge after the comp message. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, with civilian consultant Roarke. We have an appointment.”

One moment.

She waited for the scan, the verification. In short order the door opened. She recognized Frances Early from her ID shot. Mid-fifties, sturdy and attractive, mixed race. Tired hazel eyes assessed Eve before she stepped back.

“Lieutenant, sir, Ms. McEnroy is still up with the children. If you’d come in and wait until she’s able to come down.”

She caught the faint whiff of sweepers’ dust though the living area had been ruthlessly cleaned to remove any other trace of the police.

“I’ve let Ms. McEnroy know you’re here. The children are understandably distraught, and she’ll stay with them until they fall asleep. May I offer you anything while you wait?”

“We’re fine. To save time, to ensure we don’t keep either you or Ms. McEnroy any longer than necessary, we can start by talking to you.”

“To … I see. Of course. Please, sit down. I hope you understand I’m a bit distraught myself.”

“Understood. You were close, you and Mr. McEnroy?”

Francie sat, ran a hand over a chin-length cup of deep brown hair. Her nails, Eve noted, glinted with bright pink polish that seemed at odds with her conservative white shirt and black pants.

“I’ve been with the McEnroys for eight years. I tutor the girls, help tend to them, travel with them and Geena—Ms. McEnroy.”

“And you were close with Mr. McEnroy?” Eve repeated.

Francie spread her hands. “We’re family here.”

Which didn’t answer the question, but told Eve what she wanted to know.

“Mr. McEnroy stayed in New York while you, his wife, and children went to Tahiti on vacation. Is that usual?”

“Due to his work, and his business travel, Mr. McEnroy often joined the rest of the family at some point during a holiday. Or traveled alone. I came on as tutor so that the girls—though Breen was a bit young for schooling when I started—could continue their education while traveling. Most usually between New York and London, but we often accompanied Mr. McEnroy on other extended trips.”

“Or didn’t,” Eve put in. “Meaning Mr. McEnroy was often without his family here in New York, or in London, or Paris, or wherever his work schedule took him.”

“Of course.” Francie folded her hands with their pretty pink nails, set them on her knee. “It was the nature of his business. As a result, the girls are excellent travelers. I want to add Mr. McEnroy was devoted to his daughters. He often juggled his very demanding schedule to be with them, or bring them with him for birthdays, Christmas, and so on. He was a loving, involved father.”

“Was he a loving, involved spouse?”

Francie shifted, took a moment, then looked straight into Eve’s eyes. “I would prefer you discuss any marital business with Ms. McEnroy.”

“I’m asking you—and you’ve stated you’re family—your opinion on the nature of the McEnroys’ marriage.”

“I won’t gossip about my employers, or my family.”

“This is a murder investigation, not gossip. You were aware McEnroy had numerous and habitual sexual … encounters outside his marriage.”

Francie’s face went blank, but the knuckles of her folded hands whitened. “You’re pushing me to say ugly things about a man who provided me with family when I had none.”

“I’m asking you to tell me the truth about a man who was murdered to assist in the investigation. To help find who killed your employer, who robbed a woman you’re clearly fond of of her spouse, and the children in your charge of their father.”

Tears blurred Francie’s hazel eyes. “Their private life should be private.”

“It stopped being private when he was tortured and killed by an individual who accused him of multiple rapes.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. “That’s a vicious thing to accuse anyone of, and he’s unable to defend himself from such