Encore in Death, page 28
“She had a glass of wine, came up behind me. Blond, but sort of flowing and wavy. In a black dress.” She shut her eyes. “Yes, yes, a black dress. A large summer bag—more a tote. I don’t remember getting it back out for her, and I would! I never thought of it again. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Eliza said again. Her face was set now, her eyes hard. “She had my Tony in that bag, didn’t she?”
“She did.”
“And whatever held the poison that killed Brant.”
“We haven’t verified that yet.”
“You’re telling me this woman came into my house, stole my property, ate my food, drank my wine, swanned around my party, but you can’t verify she poisoned my husband? Does two and two still make four in your world?”
“Eliza,” Dolby murmured, and rubbed her shoulders.
“I…” The stone-cold fury on her face ebbed as she reached back to cover Dolby’s hand. “I’m sorry. I apologize. Forgive me, I—”
“No need,” Eve told her.
“Every need. You’re working so hard, and I … I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Dolby, would you get me a real drink? My nerves are shot. Not a champagne cocktail. I’ll never drink one again. A Bellini.”
“You bet.” He bent down, kissed the top of her head. “You hang on now. We’re all here for you.”
“Dolby, would you mind? A gin and tonic.”
Dolby gave Lin a nod. “Lieutenant?”
“On duty.”
“Right. Cela?”
She just shook her head. “I was as close to her in the foyer as I am to you now. I should’ve recognized her. I should have. She’s on the No Contact list.”
“Has she tried to contact you, Ms. Lane?”
“Eliza, and not in several years. But I don’t take chances with her type. When she could get press, she never failed to take a swipe at me. I can ignore that. Just as I ignored it when she tried to extort money out of me.”
“When?”
“Oh God, it was right after Brant and I got together. She contacted me—I’ll never know how she got my number—and threatened to go to Brant, to the press with how I plotted and cheated with Gary—Gary Proctor, who played Charlie—to drive Leah—or Rose as she insists on calling her—to overdose, to get the part of Marcie.”
Eliza leaned her head back, shut her eyes. “I told her to fuck right off. I said exactly that. I never had that kind of relationship with Gary. We were friends, the way you are in a company. He cared about Leah. So did I. So did everyone. If anyone drove her to her death, it was her mother.”
“Did she follow through?”
“Not that I know of, and I’m sure I would have. She’d ridden that story or some version of it before. That horse was tired.”
She straightened again. “But she must believe it. How could she do this if she didn’t actually believe it? She must be extremely unwell. If anything, I tried to help Leah. God knows Gary did. And yet she … all these years.”
She rubbed at her throat with a hand that trembled lightly.
“I’ve never had children, but I’ve played mothers. A good actor has to be, know, feel, believe, so I understand to a point. But to blame me after all these years, to do all this. The Tony? She’d see it as Leah’s—or more likely hers. Killing Brant … It was supposed to be me. He died because she wanted to kill me.”
When Dolby came out with the drinks, she took it, stared at it. “At least she’s been arrested, she’s locked up while you prove the rest.”
“She made bail.”
Eliza lowered her glass. Her fingers went so white on the stem Eve braced for the snap.
“How could that happen? She killed my husband! You know that. You know she did.”
“I know she used fake identification and references to gain entry to your home. I know she stole your property and remained hidden in your home for a number of hours. I know, by her own admission, she harbors a serious grudge against you, and I know she has a history of fraud and confidence games. The rest, I’m working on.”
“But they just let her go?”
“She’ll be required to wear a tracker. And to appear with her attorney at Cop Central tomorrow morning for a continuation of Interview. She ended the interview today by claiming her right to an attorney. And she pulled Carlton J. Greene out of retirement to represent her.”
“I don’t know who that is.”
“He’s a high-dollar criminal defense attorney. Very.”
“And she could afford him?”
“Somebody could. Just as somebody could afford to pay her bail, one set at a million. That’s a hundred thousand on the line, and Bernstein doesn’t have anything like that.”
“So she’s whined and wheedled enough for all this, and can sleep in luxury tonight instead of in a cell.”
“I can promise you her hotel isn’t luxurious, but yeah, she gets a night out. I need you to go back to that first production of Upstage.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s when it started. This is where it ends. You had at least one altercation with Bernstein, on the night before the official opening.”
“Oh, more than one, but that was a doozy, so I remember it very well. Friends and family night—it’s a full dress with an audience of friendlies, some critics and reviewers, of course. Leah had banned Debra—except when she didn’t. They had, at least to my eye, a strange, codependent relationship. I know she slithered her way into Leah’s dressing room before curtain. Gary told me, and I could see Leah was upset. We didn’t have time to talk about it then, but I could see it. I was in the wings, waiting for my cue into act two, when she—Debra—went at me. She said Leah was going to have me fired, which was a terrible lie, but it rattled me. She went off about me scheming to replace Leah, about Gary and me cheating and plotting together to ruin Leah.
“I fired back. Usually I just tried to avoid or ignore her, but I’m minutes from going out onstage and she’s attacking me. And she slapped me. She actually hit me, and that was it. I had her tossed. I didn’t say anything to Leah about everything her crazy mother said, but I—God, I was hard on her. I said she had to control her mother, keep her the hell away, not just from me but from the theater. And if she didn’t, I was going to press charges. Others saw Debra hit me.”
She drank deep. “Maybe I am partially to blame for her reaching for the pills and vodka. I said all that, stalked out, so maybe Debra’s not altogether wrong.”
“She is wrong.” Lin reached across to her. “And you weren’t. Aren’t. You stood up for yourself. You had to.”
“I was so angry. I was shaking. I still remember how I was shaking when the curtain went up for the second act. And I really let Leah have it. I’ve never told that story, not all of it. And not just because I took it out on Leah, but I didn’t see any point in adding to it all. I told the police Debra and I argued, I couldn’t lie about it, and that I told Leah about the argument. I … softened it all, I guess. A little.”
She picked up her drink again. “I went to take off my stage makeup, my costume. I was toying with just going home—Debra had just ruined the night for me. But I ran into Gary, and he was upset. He told me Leah was at the vodka, and he’d had enough. Misery and company, I guess, so we walked over to the club together.
“It helped,” she murmured. “I mean, we didn’t know Leah was … We didn’t know, and it had been such a good performance despite everything. Just being with everyone, reliving it all, it was such a lift.”
“Have you kept in touch with Gary?”
“Yes, off and on. I went to his wedding. I know he was invited to the party. Why didn’t he come, Cela?”
“His daughter’s thirteenth birthday party.”
“Oh, right.” Eliza looked vaguely out toward the river. “That night changed everything. But we moved on. We had to. But not Debra. She hasn’t, has she? She wanted me dead, and instead, it was Brant, who never harmed a soul, who never even knew Leah. And now Debra’s facing prison. She’ll never be able to move on now.”
“Mr. Jacoby, did you notice the woman, the blonde in the black dress? She spoke with Mr. Fitzhugh at some point during the party.”
“There were so many people, and Brant probably had at least a few words with most of them. I honestly don’t know for certain.”
“Eliza, she claims you looked at her, and she thought you may have recognized her. That’s why she left at the time she did. You were near the foyer with Ms. Bowen.”
“If I’d recognized her, she’d have been out on her ass.” Eliza all but snarled it out. “I hate to admit it, but most of that night, it’s hard to bring it into focus now. And while I may have seen a blonde in a black dress—she wouldn’t have been the only one—I didn’t recognize her. Not consciously anyway.
“What’s going to happen now?” Eliza demanded. Tears swirled in her eyes but didn’t fall. “Please tell me this lawyer someone bought for her won’t help her get away with it. It can’t end that way. It can’t. We’ve spent nearly all day planning memorials for the man I loved with every bit of my heart.”
“We’re going to continue to work the case. We’ll interview Bernstein again in the morning, with her lawyer. She can’t deny she was here—we have her on the security feed, we have her fake ID, and she confessed to that during Interview. We know she blames you for her daughter’s death, as she’s said so, plainly, on record.”
“Why now?” Cela murmured it, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, but it’s so hard to understand why, after twenty-five years, this woman would go through all this to try to kill Eliza.”
“The revival.” Eliza answered before Eve spoke. “I can add two and two well enough. The revival and the buzz about it set her off. She saw herself, back then, in the part of the mother. Leah told me, and she laughed about it. It’s how Debra got so tight with Maeve. Maeve wined and dined Debra to pick her brain about the character type.”
Her eyes narrowed; her mouth tightened. “Maeve Spindal, of course. She had a real soft spot for Debra and a serious hard-on for me. She’d help Debra now, no question about it. She’d pay for an important lawyer and for bail. She absolutely would find it entertaining.”
“I’m not able to access that kind of information.”
“Two and two,” Eliza repeated with a sharp, angry shrug. “And Debra took the Tony because killing me wouldn’t be enough for her. She had to have that, that tangible thing, but it wouldn’t be enough.”
She covered her eyes with a hand for a moment. “I’d have given her the damn Tony. I’d have given her all my awards, if only I could have Brant.”
She dropped her hand, stared out at the city.
“Now I’m alive, and she won’t have the tangible thing, either, but a long time in prison. It all fell apart for her. And Brant’s dead. He’s gone.”
She set the drink down, rose. “Excuse me a moment.”
“She’s trying so hard to hold up.” Lin looked after her. “She’s tough, but this is all too much. She’s determined to go into rehearsals tomorrow. I thought, mistake. Take another few days first. But now I think maybe it’ll help.”
“I know it’s difficult.” Eve got to her feet. “Please let her know I’ll be in contact with any developments.”
“I’ll show you out.” Cela walked her to the elevator.
“She was standing right here, and I put the bag in the closet.”
“Do you remember the time?”
“People were still arriving. I think around eight-thirty, or not long after. I hadn’t left the door or done my first sweep of the upper floors.”
“Eliza’s office is included in that sweep?”
“Yes. I didn’t notice the award was missing. Eliza has so many awards. If I had … He was so kind, Lieutenant. He was such a kind man. She has to pay for this. She has to.”
Eve took the smooth ride down, thinking everything she’d heard here lined up neatly with what she’d heard in Interview.
And still.
She checked in with Officer Carmichael. Debra had just arrived at her hotel by cab. Her tracker verified her location.
On a whim as she drove home, she contacted Maeve Spindal.
“Ah, Lieutenant Dallas.”
Eve decided the woman rode in a plush car or limo, a glass of champagne in her hand.
“How’d you talk Greene out of retirement?”
Maeve smiled and sipped. “We’re old friends. Good friends. At one time, long ago, more than friends.”
“You’d pay his freight for someone like Debra Bernstein?”
“Why not? The woman’s down and out while the Icove cop and Eliza Lane team up to railroad her for murder.”
“I’m NYPSD’s cop, and Eliza Lane isn’t on my team. You shelled out for her bail, too. Hell of an investment. Did she tell you she faked her way into the victim’s home, laid in wait, stole property—the award Lane won for Upstage—and crashed the party?”
Maeve shrugged. “None of those transgressions add up to murder. Now, I’ve just come off a stellar performance. I’d like to enjoy my champagne.”
“Go right ahead. You might not feel so smug when you find out you backed the wrong horse.”
“I’ve lost bets before. Good night, Lieutenant.”
She cut Eve off as Eve drove through the gates.
“Smug bitch. Love, just love to find a way to tie you into the murder.”
But shook her head because she just didn’t see it.
When she parked, she sat a moment. Too much in her head, she admitted. Circles, lines, connections, gaps.
Lies and truths. And sometimes, she thought, truths had a way of hiding lies.
Summerset and Galahad waited when she walked in.
Eve gave him a narrow look. “Smug goes for smug,” she decided. “So I bet you think Maeve Spindal is just terrific.”
“The actress?” He lifted a—smug to her mind—eyebrow. “I saw her once with my wife—before she was my wife, long ago, in the world that was before. Young, so young, all of us then. She was quite good. Years later, during the Urbans, after I lost my wife, we worked to put on a sort of benefit for the wounded and the lost. We had a number of performers donate their time and their talents. She wouldn’t. She named a fee well beyond reach and sent word through her representative she was a professional, and professionals were paid.
“I haven’t thought much of her since. Art without heart is hollow, after all.”
“Smug bitch then, smug bitch now.”
She thought about it as she walked upstairs, the cat at her heels.
Some people—mainly most people—just didn’t change. Some did, sure. Some because they wanted to, some because something shifted in their lives. But smug bitch then and now? Not unusual. Not at all.
When she walked into her office, she heard Roarke in his so she peeked in.
Work mode, she saw as he sat swiping and scrolling at some air holo with symbols, numbers, drawings that meant absolutely nothing to her. Hair tied back, jacket and tie gone, sleeves rolled.
And more, not just concentration on his face, but frustration.
She started to back out, but he saw her.
“You’re busy.”
“I am, bugger it. I have to deal with this fuckup.”
She started—knee-jerk—to offer her help. Then thought about the symbols and numbers and admitted she wouldn’t know where to begin.
“I’ll get out of your way.”
“Another thirty, I’m thinking. I nearly have it. Nearly. Bloody hell, there’s the thing. And when I’m done, I want a very big drink.”
She stepped out, actually set the timer on her wrist unit. She opened her terrace doors, drew in some summer air while she heard Roarke’s thickening Irish cursing those weird symbols.
After programming coffee, she updated board and book, then sat, feet up, and thought about a new circle.
20
When Roarke came out, Eve stood at her board, hands in pockets.
“How bad was it?” she asked.
“It could’ve been entirely worse.”
Because he needed it after the last hour of work, he walked to her, kissed her.
“What was it?”
“Hmm? Ah, bollocksed programming, misread code, fecking the system right up across a particular network. Fixed now, and I’m after that drink.”
“Wine’s on the table.”
He glanced over, saw the two domed plates, the wine bottle, glasses, the basket of bread.
“Well now, look at this.”
His pleased and obvious surprise had her rolling her eyes before he took her hand to walk to the table by the open balcony doors.
Lifting a dome, he found fish and chips.
“And not pizza.”
“Yeah, well, pizza was the default choice, but I resisted. Fish and chips is kind of your comfort food, so I get points for that.”
“You do indeed.” He poured wine generously into the glasses. “Thanks for this.”
“You’d do the same for me. You do the same for me pretty much always.”
“We’ve both had a day, haven’t we? And though you no doubt have more work, here’s to the end of it.” He tapped his glass to hers. “And before I ask about yours, there’s some news you’d have interest in.”
“I know! Peabody chose the paint color for her craft room. Don’t keep me in suspense. Is it Passion Pink or Blissful Blue? Or maybe, just maybe, she went wild with Orangutan Orange. I can’t wait to hear!”
Laughing, he nudged her into a chair, then took his own. “I believe she’s nearly there, but this is regarding another piece of property, Lower West.”
“Don’t you already own the Lower West? Wait. Is this Mary Kate Covino’s ex-asshole, that fucker Teegan Stone? The bar with his apartment above?”
“It is, yes. Negotiations with the building’s owner finalized shortly ago.” He toasted her again, drank, then sampled the fish while she rained a monsoon of salt on everything on her plate.
“Then you get to kick him the hell out. See how he likes it.”
“That would be up to you. You bought it.”
Her jaw dropped. “I did not.”
