Nadine nudged Eve back, leaned over, gave Roarke a smacking kiss.
Louise let out a peal of laughter and rubbed Mavis’s baby mountain. Charles signaled for another round.
And Eve’s communicator sounded.
“Uh-oh,” Nadine said.
Eve pulled it out of her purse. “Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officers at 1120 York Avenue. Possible homicide.
“Acknowledged. Contact Peabody, Detective Delia. I’m on my way. Dallas out.”
Conversation had stopped, and eyes had turned to her.
Mavis lifted her shoulders, gave Eve a sympathetic smile.
“Well, hey, at least they waited to kill somebody until after we got to party.”
“Yeah, some murderers are considerate that way. Gotta go.”
“Drinks on the house,” Roarke said as he rose. “Stay as long as you like.”
Nadine looked up from her ’link. “That’s the Barrister House. Owned until his death last winter by Henry J. Barrister, founder of Zip—global and off-planet shipping. Current residents his son, Nathan—current head of Zip—and his spouse, Aileen, two college-age daughters. Nathan has a sister, also in New York, divorced, no kids.”
“Only you, Lois,” Jake murmured.
“Good to know. Later. I would be dressed like this,” Eve muttered as they walked out.
“We can stop at home on the way.”
She wanted to, but… “Better to get there. Swing back after, change, get my ride if I have to go into Central. Except I’ll need a field kit.”
“In the car.”
She glanced up at him. “You’re always handy. Anyway, this is more my version of Friday night.”
“It is, but, Lieutenant, it’s now Saturday morning.”
Chapter Two
Because she’d spent a large part of the evening sipping from an apparently bottomless glass of wine, Eve popped a Sober-Up before she got in the car.
It wasn’t a long drive, and after one in the morning, a quick one. Still, Eve had time, since Nadine had given her the springboard, to do a quick run on the residents of Barrister House.
“Nathan Barrister, white male, fifty, looks clean from a quick pass. Married to Aileen Carville, mixed-race female, age fifty, for twenty-five years as of next month. Also looks clean. Daughter Chloe—age twenty-one—Harvard, business major. No bumps at this point. Daughter Anya, age nineteen—also Harvard, law student. Sister, Joy Barrister, age fifty-two, fifty-three in November—divorced, no offspring, resides Third Avenue. Also looks clean.
“He’s CEO of Zip Global—founded in 1995 by his now-deceased father—who was married, and divorced, four times.”
“An optimist then.”
“Ha! Both his offspring come from the third marriage to Tina Glenn Barrister Carlyle Nance. So optimistic enough there for three tries. The old man was worth about a hundred and twenty-five billion at TOD.”
She glanced over. “Doesn’t hold a candle to you. And what does that mean? Why hold a candle? Sure, if it’s dark and that’s all you’ve got, or okay, romantic ambience.”
“I’d say the Sober-Up hasn’t kicked in, but you’d ask that if you hadn’t had a drink for a week.”
“Anyway. They’ve probably got live-in staff, so whoever’s dead might be family, might be staff, might be somebody else altogether.”
