“Because I’ve lost my mind. It’s not cooperating. I’m stepping away for a minute. I need more coffee. I mentioned your call to a friend—we’ve been friends for years. And she remembered. Lake Como. We took a villa there for a month. It was glorious. Until that party, and that blonde.”
“Lake Como, and when, exactly?”
“It would’ve been sometime in June—what year was that? I don’t remember. The June before I filed for divorce.”
She pulled a large mug of coffee out of the AutoChef and took a long sip.
“Better. I should never cook without extra caffeine or completely sober.”
“You said you saw her a couple more times between then and when you saw her in New York more recently.”
“Yes, in the village near the villa. At an outdoor restaurant. Later, another friend said she’d seen Henry with her. We had some words about that, Henry and I. When we got back to New York, I talked to a lawyer, but I didn’t file until I saw her again, in the early fall, I think.”
“In New York.”
“No, we’d gone to… where was it? Maine. To see the foliage, and I thought, potentially, to patch things up. And there she was, sitting in the bar of our hotel. I walked over, told her she could have him. She just smiled at me. I went back up to the room. I’d been going out to do some early Christmas shopping. Henry enjoyed that, but he’d made an excuse to stay back. For obvious reasons.”
She gulped coffee, hissed out a breath.
“I told him I was done, that since he couldn’t be faithful, I was done. He said he was sorry he couldn’t be. And I swear he meant it. So I came back to New York, moved my things out, filed for divorce.”
She let out a long, long sigh. “He offered, over and above the settlement, to buy me a house wherever I wanted. And I realized I didn’t want to live in a home he’d bought for me. Even though the money I had to buy my own had come from him.”
“There’s a difference.”
The annoyed look faded into appreciation.
“Yes, thanks. There’s a difference. We split on remarkably easy terms, but my heart wasn’t broken. Pride dented, ego bruised, that’s all.”
“I appreciate this.”
“It actually felt good to spurt it out. I really don’t harbor hard feelings. I told you that before. But that smirk—it’s stuck too long.”
“Since last December.”
“Yes. We brought the kids over to see Christmas in New York. Ice-skating, roasted chestnuts, Radio City’s holiday show, the works.”
“Thank you. This is helpful.”
“Okay. Well, I’m going to try this pancake thing again.”
“Good luck with that.”
December, Eve thought as she sat back again. And Henry died in February. Allegedly, and she believed it, Nathan and Aileen learned of the vault in July. Then the break-in, theft, murder came in September.
Nine months between the blonde’s visit and the break-in. Seven if you counted from Henry’s death to the theft. Less than three from the discovery of the vault to the break-in.
She checked the time, argued with herself. Then contacted Roarke.
When he came on-screen, she led with, “I’m sorry, but I’ve got a question.”
“It’s not a problem at the moment. I’m between meetings.”
“Yeah, me, too. Okay, so you’re going to steal the Royal Suite.”
When he smiled, she all but heard him think: Been there, done that.
“How long between finding the location, in the current circumstances, and the grab?”
