She walked into her closet and tried not to think too hard about what always struck her as acres of clothes.
She’d just go with Roarke’s theme of the day. Gray.
She grabbed dark gray trousers, considered a shirt.
She couldn’t go with the maroon—too close to red, and red struck her as flashy. She went with a non-flashy blue. He’d probably have pulled out a blue belt, but she stuck with gray for the belt, for the boots.
She dressed, then because she had a weakness, went with a gray jacket in buttery leather. Coming out, she tossed the jacket on the arm of the sofa as she walked over to hook on her weapon harness.
“I have some things to see to today.”
She glanced back at him as she filled her pockets. “Imagine that.”
“But I should have a bit of time this afternoon for the investigators’ reports. I’ll check in with Feeney myself, as I’m curious there.”
“Okay.” She swung on the jacket, then frowned. “You know, maybe the fourth wife would work with a police artist. She really hates the blonde, so she might be willing. I’m betting that face is stuck in her brain.”
“Where is she?”
“Montana. Bozeman. They have to have police artists. I might try that. I’ve gotta go.”
“You could send Yancy,” he said as he rose.
“Not enough solid for that.”
“If there’s something there, you’ll solidify it.” He drew her in. “While you’re about it, take care of my cop.”
“I think since I’m reinterviewing and digging through files, I won’t have to work hard at that one.”
She kissed him. “You don’t own Fiji, right?”
“The island? No. Just a few spots on it.”
“It’d be funny if it turns out the killer thief ended up getting busted in one of them.”
“While holding an umbrella drink.”
“Even funnier. See you tonight. Cat’s making his move.”
It amused her the way Roarke turned, aimed those blue eyes at the cat, and the way the cat stopped his casual saunter toward the breakfast plates.
It amused her more, as she headed out, imagining Roarke would end up giving the cat a few of those little treats Galahad pounced on like a junkie on his fix.
Her car was waiting for her. She slid inside and started the short trip across town.
Dog walkers—one woman had two that looked like mops with legs prancing along. Joggers aiming for the great park. Kids in uniformsheading to their private school or being led there by a parent or nanny. A liveried doorman opening the door for a woman breezing out of her building. She carried a gold briefcase that matched her shoes, her sunshades.
The doorman hotfooted it to a black sedan to open the rear door for her before the driver could.
Eve caught a red light, watched pedestrians, a mix of business clothes and day laborer attire, stream across. A few, fresh from the subway, picked up their pace to try to make the light.
Since Peabody was one of them, Eve angled toward the curb, tapped the horn.
The tap kicked off a blast of a dozen horns Eve ignored as Peabody jumped in.
“Hey, nice timing.” Peabody strapped in as the light changed. “We ran into Summerset at the street fair.”
“So I heard.”
