“Maybe Fiji. That’s down there, right?”
“It is indeed down there.”
She cut into the omelet; fragrant steam rose. “I guess it burns my ass thinking they’re soaking up rays in Fiji or wherever, kicked back in a lounge chair with an umbrella drink and a fat fee.”
“Would you like a quick trip to Fiji to check the beaches and bars for suspicious characters?”
“What I want is to drag their ass back to New York, toss them in the box, and make them cry.”
She ate some omelet. Yes, it held spinach, but it also held cheese and chunks of ham.
“I want to find the blonde and pull her smirky ass into the box. The timing with her…” Shaking her head, Eve picked up the coffee he’d poured her. “It feels like something.”
“Your feel-like-somethings are usually accurate.”
“I still need a name, a face. Maybe I’ll have one this morning. And I’m hoping by now EDD’s caught some chatter about the emeralds.Unless whoever stole them—or more likely paid for the theft—wants to do just what Henry Barrister did. Lock them away.”
“So, your mysterious and smirking blonde.”
“Yeah. Somebody knew the emeralds were there, somebody wanted them. I can mostly believe no one in the household’s involved there. Nothing shows otherwise.”
“But.”
“Mostly isn’t a hundred percent, and I have to factor in just letting it slip to the wrong person. Now you’re either afraid to say so, or you just don’t think whoever you told could possibly be part of this.”
“Or, less likely but possibly, something you said months ago hasn’t clicked for you now.”
“Less likely, yeah. But the blonde? Going after an old man like seventy years her senior? That screams con artist, gold digger, opportunist—take your pick.”
“Possibly all three.”
“Right. And the timing with her in New York when the old man’s starting to slide? When you look at the whole thing, who was most likely to slip and say something about the vault?”
“Henry.”
“Yeah, and you’ve got this blond operator right there. Wife four, and wife at the time of that party, didn’t have a name, didn’t know who she’d come with.”
“You think party crasher.”
“When I put it together, that’s where I’m leaning. Make the connection. Barrister’s rolling in it, and he likes them young. Flatter, flirt, fuel up that old libido. The fourth ex says she saw the blonde a couple more times, so that says she, the blonde, kept the connection going. Then she’s on tap again, just a couple months before he dies. I’m thinking they stayed in touch, and maybe somebody in the household remembers her.”
After finishing off the omelet, she shifted to him. “You wouldn’t fall for it.”
“Obviously, I prefer brunettes.”
“Not that. You wouldn’t fall for the play. You’ve been on the grift, and you wouldn’t fall for it. Like Mavis wouldn’t. You’d cop to the tells. Plus, women come on to you all the time.”
“Do they?”
“Jesus, Roarke, I’m often standing right there. You know when it’s a play.”
“Add I love my wife, and want to avoid her cha-cha.”
She laughed, kissed him, rose. “The point? Henry Barrister either didn’t care or had a wide-ass blind spot when it came to being played by a woman. Since, by all accounts, he was a player himself, I think the first. It didn’t matter as long as he got the young, hot sex.”
“Worth the cost to him. Yes, I agree with that. But not just the sex, Eve, at least to my thinking. The flattery, the attention, the shine of having something young, beautiful that others would envy on his arm. In his hands.”
“I’m going to agree there.”
