Vendetta in Death (In Death #49) - J. D. Robb Page 0,92
communication. We can do that, it’s pretty straightforward, and save EDD the trouble.”
“Do that, clean it up. I’m not looking at either of them, but we fill the holes.”
“Want my take?”
“It’s why you’re there.”
“These two are too busy raising kids and making rent to cook up a plot to kill three guys.”
“Yeah, that’s my take. But fill the holes.”
“Are you sure there aren’t more doughnuts?” he asked.
She cut him off.
When she glanced over to where Peabody still talked to Nadine, she frowned, and Roarke strolled to her. “They’re wrapping it up. She did well.”
“Great. Do you need transpo?”
“Actually, I’m catching a ride with Jake. I’m going to give him a quick tour of An Didean before I go to work and he goes to bed. Nadine’s going in to work as well.”
“She’ll be watching for it.”
“Sorry?”
Eve wanted to say Darla, but said, “The killer. She’ll be watching for the media, the reports, the reactions. She wants some credit, some attention. She always did. That’s why she wrote the poems. Peabody!” she shouted when she saw the camera lower. “With me. Now! Gotta go. No.” She jabbed a finger in his chest before he could lean in for a kiss. “No mushy stuff on a crime scene.”
He simply caught her finger, then arched eyebrows when Nadine and Jake exchanged a pretty serious goodbye kiss.
“She’s not a cop.”
“Well, if kissing my wife is off-limits, see that you take good care of my cop.” Then he tugged her finger to his lips, made her roll her eyes. “She won’t outsmart you, Lieutenant. Not for long.”
When he walked away, she looked back, watched the morgue team load the body bag in the wagon. Not for long just wasn’t good enough.
She opted to walk the handful of blocks to the bar, spare herself the frustration of finding a place to park.
“It’s going to be a beautiful day.” Peabody lifted her face to the breeze.
Eve jammed her hands into her pockets. “Tell that to the dead guy.”
“Well, he’d be dead even if it was going to be a crappy day.”
“That’s a point.”
“So, pretty day, and it’s supposed to stick awhile. I talked Mavis into going with me, bringing Belle, to the community garden over the weekend if we’re clear. Lots of things we can help plant this early in the season.”
Baffled, Eve turned her head and stared. “Mavis is going to plant stuff? In the ground?”
“It’s fun to dig in the dirt, and good luck when a pregnant woman plants.”
Eve couldn’t figure where the fun was in dirt, but it took all kinds. “Hasn’t she already been planted?”
“Hah! Good one.” All but bouncing down the sidewalk, Peabody gave Eve a cheerful elbow poke. “It’s good to get out in the fresh air, plant living things. Plus, Bella learns how to make flowers, vegetables grow, how to take care of them.”
“Trying to make a Free-Ager out of her?”
“All Free-Agers are gardeners, but not all gardeners are Free-Agers. Anyway … We’re meeting the owner? The bar?”
“No, the bartender-slash-manager. The owners are a couple of guys in Newark who, according to them and the bartender, haven’t been in the place for weeks. We’ll get more out of the guy who worked the bar last night.”
When they reached it, Eve studied the exterior.
A long, long way from McEnroy’s watering grounds, Nowhere suited its name. It hunched between an empty storefront advertising it was for sale or lease, and a pawn shop with its steel doors locked down.
Its single window, dingy with grime, framed a swirl of neon—currently dark—reading NOWHERE. While security included triple police locks and a sign with a toothy dog claiming that Bulldog Alarm system guarded the building, it didn’t include a door cam.
She didn’t have to see the interior to recognize a drinking establishment where the patrons came to down the cheap until they had enough of a buzz to stumble out and face their crap-filled lives.
A dim excuse for a light came on inside. She saw movement, then heard the locks snap open.
The man who stood in the door had a lot of snarled ink-black hair with brassy streaks falling past his shoulders. The shoulders were wide, the arms bearing sleeve tats and biceps that bulged.
Dark circles dogged bleary brown eyes. Even his sneer looked tired.
“You the frigging cops?”
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. You the frigging bartender?”
“Yeah. Shit.” He jerked a thumb in aggrieved invitation. “We got the licenses posted, right there.”
She noted them, and further noted she hadn’t been wrong about the establishment. A dump of