“Not really. Except he didn’t like her. He said she had a nasty streak, but her money was good. Oh, and she wasn’t who she said she was. Did she kill him?”
“No, but any information on or about her might help me find who did.”
“He didn’t say much. He was in such a good mood. He brought Frisky her favorite doggie treats, and he brought me chocolates. He was sweet that way.”
“Did he tell you why he was in a good mood?”
“Not really. He just said how he’d made some decisions, and something about how sometimes bad things happen to wake you up, to tell you to play it straight, even if straight put you in a squeeze.”
“Did he talk to you about it, give you any details?”
“No, just that he felt good about it. And, oh, he said he was going to retire. He said that a lot, but it sounded like he meant it this time. He was going to go down to the islands next week, check out some property. He said maybe I could come. Maybe I would’ve. He was fun to be around. Then we went to bed for a while. After I made him a sandwich, then he—oh, I forgot. Somebody tagged him. He got all professional, so I figured it was a client.”
“Did you hear any of the conversation?”
“Not really. He walked back in the bedroom with the ’link. I did hear him say something about meeting at ten. I think it was ten. When he came out, he was … thoughtful. That’s how I’d say it. He gave me a big kiss, gave Frisky a rub, and left. I’ll never see him again.”
Eve tried a few more angles, but realized she’d wrung that source dry. Asner hadn’t given names of clients or specific business with them to friends.
But she had a fresh bone to chew. It appeared as though the killer had contacted Asner, not the other way around.
When she arrived at Roundtree’s the house droid informed her Mr. Roundtree was still on the set, and Ms. Burkette was not at home. Better yet, Eve decided.
“I need to review the theater area and the roof.”
“Do you want me to contact Ms. Burkette?”
“What for?”
“I … It’s not the usual practice to allow someone to wander the house without Ms. Burkette or Mr. Roundtree in residence.”
“I’m not someone. I’m the cop serving as primary investigator on a homicide, one that occurred in this house.”
“We’re all very upset.”
“I’m sure you are. You’ll probably be less upset when the individual who murdered Ms. Harris is identified, apprehended, and charged. So, I’m going to work toward that by reviewing the areas I mentioned.”
“Of course. I’ll show you to the theater.”
“I know the way.” Eve took out her PPC, pulled up Asner’s ID shot. “Does he look familiar?”
“No.” The droid went into that momentary dead pause as it scanned. “No. I don’t know him.”
“You never saw him around the neighborhood?”
“I have nothing in memory. Is there something I can get for you while you … review?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll let myself out when I’m done.”
Eve went directly to the theater. She stood for a few minutes, bringing the scene back into her mind as it had been that night. Everyone milling around, getting drinks or desserts, talking in little groups or lounging in the chairs.
Big, happy group, she thought. Except for Harris. She’d been sulky and withdrawn, off to herself.
Drinking and watching, Eve thought now, annoyed she’d paid so little attention to the woman.
Of course neither of them had known Harris would end up dead in under an hour.
She dimmed the lights, took the chair she’d had that evening, and tried, again, to bring it back.
She’d been focused on the screen, but Roundtree had never been far away. Seated near during the show.
People laughing, or calling out remarks. She closed her eyes, heard Mavis’s wacky giggle, Andrea’s voice making some comment. But when? When?
She couldn’t be sure.
Lots of laughter—gurgles of it, shouts of it, groans of it. Roarke murmuring in her ear when Marlo fumbled her prop weapon during a take.
All right, not what she heard then, there was too much of it. What hadn’t she heard.
No comments from Harris, at least none that had reached the front of the theater. None from Valerie, Preston, Steinburger. Again, not that she’d heard. Nothing from Connie after the first few minutes.
Julian? He’d said something, his voice slurred from the wine. Early on, she thought. Maybe.
She brought up the lights again, studied the layout. A good-sized room, the sloped floor allowing every chair or sofa a good, unobstructed view of the screen. One exit on the side, and the main in the rear.
Easy in and out, and they hadn’t been seated in a tight group. People had spread out, and as Roundtree had drawn both her and Roarke to the front, seated them, she hadn’t seen exactly where everyone settled.
She pulled out her notes, did a rough outline from the statements of seating arrangements. Dimming the lights again, she tested by sitting in each area, getting the angles, the views.
Interesting, she decided, but a long way from conclusive.
She left the theater for the roof.
She took the elevator. The killer would have, she thought. The quickest way, a way least likely to be seen by other guests or staff. Direct to the rooftop lounge.
Two minutes or less, then out to the pool.
Harris, pacing? Smoking her laced herbals, drinking. Argumentative, threatening, bitchy.
Had the killer argued with her? Impossible to say, or, if so, if the argument had been brief or protracted. The fall, the decision. Drag her in, search the evening bag. Get the bar rag, use the pool water to wipe up the blood, toss the rag in the fire. Take the elevator back down.
Minutes really. It could have taken only minutes. Hardly more than a quick run to the john. Why would anyone notice?
Eve looked up. The dome had been partially opened. A nice October night, but …
Curious she went downstairs again, hunted up the house droid.
“Question. This time of year is the pool dome generally opened or closed?”
“Oh, closed. Ms. Burkette uses the pool every day—or did. It’s been a warm autumn, but she likes to keep the dome heated, the water very warm. And the mechanism needs to be seen to.”
“For what?”
“It sticks off and on. It doesn’t close completely unless you turn it off then on again when it sticks. She was going to have someone come out and fix it, but since the night of the party, she hasn’t used the roof. No one was allowed up there.”
“Did anyone else know about the trick to close it?”
“Mr. Roundtree, of course, most of the staff, the pool maintenance crew.”
“No one else?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Okay, thanks.”
So the killer opened the dome, Eve thought as she drove home. If Harris had opened it, why close it? Or try to. The information bumped Connie down the list. If she’d wanted it closed, she knew how to make it close.
The killer hadn’t. Maybe hadn’t noticed it hadn’t closed completely. Just flick the mechanism and go.
Why open it in the first place?
Smoke, from the zoner-laced herbals. Good possibility, she decided. Maybe the killer disliked the smell, was allergic, or just wanted the fresh air.
With her mind rolling that angle over and what it might mean, she zipped through the gates of home.
Rain smacked at her as she made the dash to the door, and inside she found the foyer empty.
