Encore in Death, page 19
“I want to hit her with the dead sister. Routine follow-up interview. Blah blah, bang! I want her reaction. Not one wit statement mentioned the connection, and that’s bogus. That she didn’t tell anyone. You’re working with the woman who replaced your dead sister, and you don’t say anything? She doesn’t come out with it when we took her statement that night? Bogus.”
“She’d’ve been smarter to come out with it, right up front.”
“Not if she’s counting on twenty-five years, that gap, and the multiple marriages involved.”
She stopped outside the building. A snooty-looking wine bar and a snootier-looking boutique took street level. Above, generous white-trimmed windows broke up the rosy brick for two stories.
“No apartment number listed. It must be all theirs.”
Eve considered, then mastered through the street-level door, one with a cam, an intercom, and good security.
“Let’s surprise them.”
“The husband’s got to know, right? It’s possible she didn’t tell him, but really unlikely.”
“Cela Ricardo’s statement—from her view from the steps. He’s standing behind her, a hand on her shoulder. Sounds like support to me.”
On the second floor, double doors stood open on the right to a large space with mirrored walls.
“Dance studio.” Peabody nodded toward a ballet bar.
“And his place.” Eve studied the space directly across, the piano, the sound system. “Work quarters here, living quarters upstairs.”
She continued up to a wide landing and double doors painted cheerfully blue. A domed skylight overhead must have fed the flowers flanking the doors enough sun to keep them thriving.
Eve pressed the buzzer.
She heard locks click and a male voice. “Kacie, thank God you’re early. We—”
He broke off when he pulled the door open, and stood in cotton pants, a baggy tee, and a toddler on one bony hip.
“Oh, I thought— Sorry, can I…” He blinked at the badge Eve held up.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. May we come in, Mr. Furrier?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry. I’m scattered. Didn’t recognize you right off. I thought it was the nanny. I’m a little desperate.”
He jiggled the toddler, who grinned while she wrapped a hunk of his tousled mane of brown hair around her hand.
She said, “Hi!” and with great enthusiasm launched herself at Eve, who caught her in self-defense. And ended up in the next thing to an embrace with Malcomb, as the kid still clutched her father’s hair.
“Sorry!” He tried to pull her back, but she’d gotten a fistful of Eve’s hair. “Really sorry. Come on, Ari. Please. It’s like she dug up ten pounds of chocolate and ate it.”
He managed to free Eve’s hair, stepped back. “I’m so sorry. Ariella decided three-thirteen this morning was the perfect time to party. Minx—my wife—dealt with that and finally got her back down a little after five. And about six, she’s up and going again. My turn. I have coffee,” he added. “I have lots and lots of coffee if you’d like.”
He stood, obviously sleep-deprived and frazzled, a tall man with a skinny build, long arms, long legs. He had a night’s scruff on his face and exhausted, deep-set blue eyes.
“We’re good for now. We have some follow-up questions regarding Brant Fitzhugh’s murder. It would be very helpful if we could also speak to Ms. Novak.”
“Of course. I—”
“Down,” Ariella said, very firmly, and wiggled out of Malcomb’s arms.
“Thank God.” He rubbed his biceps, rolled his shoulders. “I’m surprised my arms aren’t a foot longer. Please, sit down. Minx and I are still reeling over Brant.”
The kid strutted—it really was a strut—to a big white chest, pulled out a big pink truck. She strutted back, shoved it at Eve.
“Pay!”
“I’m not buying.”
“Play, she means play. Ari, go sit down now. Daddy’s going to get you some juice.”
Instead, she put on lost puppy eyes and managed to hold on to the truck while she held her arms up.
“Oh God. Okay.”
Peabody stepped in. “Is that your truck? I love pink trucks.”
Instantly Ariella turned her attention to Peabody and, obviously satisfied by what she saw, took her hand to pull her across the room.
“It’s fine,” Peabody said. “More trucks!”
“Her current obsession. Please excuse … everything,” he decided. “In addition to the party animal, we’re not quite finished with the rehab, remodeling, whatever it is at this stage.”
He dropped down into a chair in the living area, where the walls held several big swaths of paint and the ceiling was stripped down to rafters.
It opened into a dining area with half the table cluttered with what Eve knew from the Great House Project were sample books. A wide peninsula separated the dining area from the kitchen.
“We thought it best to do our work areas first—the place needed a lot of work. Then we wanted Ari’s room, ours, the master bath done before we—and I’m sorry again.” He scrubbed at his face. “You don’t care about any of that. My brain’s still fogged.”
“I’m in the middle of a major rehab,” Peabody told him as she played trucks. “I know how it is.”
“Really? It’s exhausting and thrilling all at once. Do you have kids?”
“No. I have a friend with a little girl about a year and a half, and I’ve got a really big family.”
“Only child here, but my wife? Huge family. I wonder if I can answer any questions, at least to start. I’d really like Minx to grab a little more sleep.”
“How well did you know Brant Fitzhugh?”
“I’d say I got to know him fairly well over the last few months. The four of us went out to dinner a couple times, and we went to dinner parties at their home.”
He gestured toward the dining area. “We’re not exactly equipped right now to reciprocate. I’d run into Brant now and then if we happened to drop by the workshops at the same time.”
He sat back, one eye on the truck games. “He asked me to write the lyrics for a song for Eliza.”
“I didn’t see that in the notes.”
“I didn’t think of it that night. Hard to think at all that night. He played a little piano.” Malcomb smiled. “Very little, but he’d composed a sweet little melody, and asked if I could write the lyrics. He wanted to give it to her as part of an anniversary present next fall. He arranged to take a few days off from the shoot so he could be in New York—a surprise for her, and he was going to record the song. He had a good singing voice.”
“A surprise?”
“Yeah. He came over—my studio’s downstairs—a few times to work on it. I helped him refine the melody some, and I did the lyrics. Recorded him so he’d have it before he left. He was going to make it into a music vid. He’d have everything he needed for it during the shoot in New Zealand, so…”
He looked off into space. “I don’t know if I should tell her, give her the recording we did downstairs. Or just not. Would it comfort or break her heart all over again? Minx thinks maybe wait until after the memorial. It may be too raw right now.”
“Do you know anyone who had a reason to want to hurt him, or Ms. Lane?”
“I’ve gone over and over it, and I don’t. I think some crazy person must have gotten in, crashed somehow or slipped in with the catering staff. People, at least those I know, really, genuinely liked Brant.”
“And Eliza?”
“She could be tough—and that’s part of her work ethic. She expects everyone to put in the time to shine. And I can admit to being irritated now and then at the long hours she demanded of Minx. But that’s part of it, especially with a show like Upstage, with a headliner like Eliza.”
“Did you and Eliza ever have words over it?”
“Oh, hell no!” He laughed, managed to stifle a yawn that came with it. “One thing, I’m not that brave—and I’m pretty sure she could’ve eaten me alive. That’s whatever was left of me after Minx got done with me. Second thing? It’s not my business. This is Minx’s career, her work, her talent.”
“Maybe someone else in the cast or crew has a family member who decided it was their business.”
“I’d have heard, I think, if so. Minx and I tend to vent to each other, or just entertain each other with the stories, the personalities. Sure, some would bitch or whine—and who can blame them? It’s long and hard.”
He turned his head, smiled again. “Hey, babe.”
The woman looked exhausted, Eve noted. And there was some shock in the shadowed eyes, some strain around them. Her short hair managed to go everywhere at once, and took new directions as she hastily ran a hand through it.
She wore cotton shorts and a tank—long legs and arms for her, too, but on a petite, compact body.
“This is Lieutenant Dallas, and Ari’s new friend, Detective Peabody. Let me get you some coffee.”
“Mama!” With a squeal, Ariella deserted Peabody to run to her mother. Minx picked her up, closed her eyes, nuzzled.
“I didn’t realize anyone was here.”
She had a throaty voice, one a bit hoarse from spotty sleep now, and maybe that strain.
“We’re investigating Brant Fitzhugh’s murder, Ms. Novak, and have some follow-up questions.”
“All right. We’re— We didn’t get much sleep last night. Ariella…” She went very pale. “Mal!” He came running, and she pushed the kid on him before she ran back to the bedroom.
“Right on schedule,” he murmured. “Mama’s fine. Morning sickness,” he told Eve. “We found out we were expecting another the day before the party. She’s only a few weeks in. With Ari it only lasted a couple months, but every morning. Fortunately, it’s usually once and done. Which is easy for me to say.”
He glanced toward the bedroom. “Let me just get her some ginger ale. That usually helps.”
“Juice, Daddy! Please and thank you.”
“Yeah, Daddy’ll get your juice. Just give us a minute.”
He carted the kid into the kitchen, where he held a one-sided conversation about juice, Mama, breakfast.
It struck Eve like Roarke talking to the cat.
“Is it like this at Mavis’s in the morning?” she wondered.
“Probably sometimes, sure.”
“And yet, they do it again on purpose.”
Malcomb came back, and the kid on his hip sucked on a tiny straw stuck in a tiny, bright purple tube. She wore a look of dazed joy.
“I’m sorry we’re so scattered this morning. I know how important this is, and how valuable your time. It’s just…”
He offered a quick smile as he jiggled his daughter. “Our life right now.”
Minx walked back in. She’d tossed a long shirt over the tank and looked completely washed-out. Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the glass Malcomb held out.
“Thanks. All done, I hope.”
“You sit. Kacie’s going to be here soon. Ari needs a change. I’ll take care of it, then how about Kacie takes her out for breakfast, then a romp in the park? You could grab some more sleep.”
“That’d be great.”
“It’ll only take me a few minutes. Oh, please don’t bother with that,” he added when Peabody began to load the trucks back into the toy chest.
“No trouble.”
“Thanks. Big thanks. If you have any more for me, I’ll just be five minutes.”
“He’s the best daddy.” Taking a seat, Minx sipped cautiously at the ginger ale. “I’m sorry about all the confusion. I guess Mal told you we had a big night. All Ari needed was a damn disco ball and a light show. I’m a few weeks pregnant and dealing with morning sickness. I want to say we’re usually more civilized, but not right now.”
“Choreographing a major production like Upstage must add a lot of pressure.”
“The good kind. I’m fine after I toss it, or shortly after, and Mal will take mornings until this stage passes. And we have Kacie. The nanny. She’s wonderful. A lot of juggling, but it works for us. In any case.” She took another cautious sip.
“I haven’t spoken with Eliza since … We thought we should wait. But I heard from Tessa—our director—last night. Eliza wants to go forward, and we’ll be in rehearsal starting tomorrow.”
“How well did you know Brant Fitzhugh?”
“Enough to like him, a lot. I was standing right next to him.” Her eyes teared up as she sipped. “Right next to him.”
“Up front.”
“Yes. Mal and I were standing there, talking to Tessa and Mai, when Eliza brought Sam up. Then Brant moved up. They were just nailing it, Eliza and Sam, even with the early staging we’d played with. The turns, the gestures. They had the room, you could feel it.”
She rubbed at those damp eyes.
“I know Brant lifted the glass up because it was in the corner of my eyeline, and after, Mal told me he saw him toast her, drink. I know he stepped back—but that I felt more than saw. I heard the glass shatter, the scream. I couldn’t see, but Mal could. He’s tall. People were rushing around, and Mal pulled me to him. He said he was afraid I’d get knocked down.”
Malcomb brought Ari back. She wore a shirt covered with flowers. Flowers with bright, smiling faces, Eve noted. A little creepy. He’d paired it with pink shorts and sneakers. He’d even put a pink bow in her hair.
What was it with pink? Eve wondered.
He had a big bag over one shoulder, went to a closet, pulled out a collapsed stroller-thing, set both by the door.
“She’s set.” Even as he spoke, the buzzer sounded. He pulled open the door like a man opening the door to sanity.
“Kacie!”
The kid squealed, launched, and got scooped into the arms of a laughing woman, early twenties, mixed Black and Asian, with impressive biceps.
“There’s that girl!”
“I’m going to ask if you’ll take that girl out for breakfast and to the park. She had one of her Let’s Party nights.”
“She’s a party animal. How about some pancakes, my scrumptious? You go kiss Mama bye first. How’s this morning, Mama?”
“Booted. Better.” She gathered up her daughter, kissed her all over the face. “You be good for Kacie, and have fun.”
“Bye! Bye! Bye!” As Ariella kissed her mother all over the face, Kacie glanced at Eve, then at Peabody, then back at Eve.
“Oh my God! Dallas and Peabody! Wow, this is…” The delighted switched off. “Oh, this is about what happened. I’m sorry. I met him once when he was in Malcomb’s studio. He was really nice. I’m sorry for what happened. I really liked the vid, the whole clones among us stuff. I’m going to read the book first chance. We’ll get out of your way.”
She plucked the kid from her mother’s lap. “Kiss Daddy bye-bye.”
When Ariella had, Kacie hauled up the bag, tucked the stroller under her arm, and scooted out.
“And peace falls across the land.” Mal dropped into a chair. “I’m repeating myself, but sorry again for all the chaos.”
“No problem.” Eve waited while Peabody took a seat. “So, Ms. Novak, why haven’t you mentioned your family connection to Rose Bernstein?”
14
She froze, the glass held a few inches from her lips. The color that had started to come back into her cheeks died away again.
“I— Oh God.”
Malcomb popped up, sat on the arm of her chair. “It’s okay, babe. Take it easy. Minx, it was bound to come out.”
“I know. I know.” She handed the glass to him, pressed both hands to her pale face. “I didn’t want anyone to know—especially Eliza. I still don’t, but I guess that’s done now.”
“Why?”
“I wanted the job.” She dropped her hands. “I really wanted this job, this play, this chance. It’s special to me, for obvious reasons. And those same reasons are why I never brought it up. I wasn’t sure Eliza would take me on if she knew.”
“Again, why?”
“Why? Rose died, in the theater. In that theater. My sister. We don’t use steps and halfs in our family because we’re just family. She was my sister, and she died—stupidly, tragically. Eliza took her place, and the rest is history.”
She lifted her hands, a helpless kind of gesture, then let them fall.
“If she knew the connection? Theater people are superstitious. You don’t say good luck before a performance, you don’t say Macbeth inside a theater, you don’t whistle backstage. There’s a lot you don’t and you do, because luck—good and bad—because superstition and tradition. I wouldn’t have blamed her for crossing me off the list of potential choreographers.”
“I agreed with her,” Malcomb said. “We talked about it, went back and forth on it. It was a big opportunity. You deserve it,” he added to Minx. “Why bring up something that happened twenty-five years ago and risk that opportunity?”
“Still, it must be hard for you.” Peabody kept it gentle. “Working on the show, thinking of your sister and what happened.”
“No, no, honestly, it’s just the opposite for me. It— I know it sounds strange, maybe self-serving with it—but it feels, in some ways, like I’m helping finish something Rose couldn’t. Didn’t.”
“Were you close?” Peabody prompted. “She was, what, seven years older?”
“I was six when my mother and her father got together. She was already a teenager. But she was sweet to me. We had common interests and dreams—dance, the theater. I looked up to her. She was so talented, so driven. Even then, so driven, and that was part of the problem.”
“In what way?” Eve asked.
“We’d go out for ice cream, and she’d binge on a sundae, then stick her fingers down her throat. She advised me to do the same. I pretended to, but I couldn’t do it.”
With a wan smile, she tipped her face toward her husband’s. “Always did hate to puke.”
He bent down, brushed a kiss on her hair.
“Rose took pills,” Minx continued. “Her mother knew, and I imagine got them for her. To keep her energy up, her weight down. Take more to sleep. She’d sneak out at night.”
