Benches, tables, chairs were all ebony and trimmed in deep, dark red.
She wandered away from the entrance, glancing up a sweep of silver stairs and looking east into a spacious room where the decor colors had been reversed – black and red for the floor, gold and silver for the furnishings.
A fire roared away in the ruby hearth, and beyond the wall of gilded glass was the long, dark river.
Nothing soft, she thought, nothing quiet or feminine or comforting. Just meticulous, somewhat regimented decor – the sort that gave her a mild headache.
No one would dare put their feet up on the gleaming silver table, or curl up for a nap on the gold cushions of the straight-lined sofa.
She heard the click of heels on the tiles and turned to study Madeline Bullock, in the flesh.
The ID photos hadn’t done her justice, Eve decided. She was a presence. Tall, stately, handsome, with silver-blonde hair sleeked back from a youthful face and rolled smooth at the nape of her neck.
Her eyes were arctic blue, her lips painted red as the hearth. She wore a sweater and full-legged pants that matched her eyes, and diamonds glittered like drops of ice from her ears and her throat.
“Lieutenant Dallas.” She crossed the room the way a well-appointed yacht sails a calm sea. Smooth and important. The hand she offered sparkled with both diamonds and rubies. Eve wondered if she’d accessorized to match the room.
“I spoke with your associate a few days ago,” Madeline continued, “about that terrible tragedy at Sloan, Myers, and Kraus.”
“That’s right.”
“And you’re Roarke.” Her smile warmed several degrees. “I don’t believe we’ve ever met. How odd, considering.”
“Ms. Bullock.”
“Please, please, sit. Tell me what I can do for you both.”
“I was under the impression you’d left the country, Ms. Bullock,” Eve began.
“And you’ve caught us out.” She laughed lightly, crossed her legs with a whisper of silk. “My son and I decided we wanted a little time, incognito, if you understand.”
“I know the term,” Eve said dryly, and Madeline’s smile didn’t falter a fraction.
“We did tell Robert – Robert Kraus – and several others that we were leaving New York. I’m sure you understand that being entertained can be just exhausting. Of course, you’re both young. You must enjoy the constant round of dinners and parties and fêtes.”
“I live for fêtes. Can’t get enough.” This time, that smile flickered toward a frown for just an instant. “You couldn’t just refuse an invitation? Or explain that you and your son wanted a few quiet evenings?”
“So much is expected of people in our position.” On a heavy sigh, Madeline lifted her hands, let them fall gracefully to her lap. “Sometimes those expectations are a burden. Accept this invitation, and refuse that one, feelings are hurt. It was just a little ploy to avoid all that and have those quiet evenings. We do love your city. Ah, here’s some refreshment.”
The droid wheeled in a cart holding decanters, a teapot, plates of fruit and cheese, and little frosted cookies.
“May I offer you brandy or tea? Perhaps a bit of both.”
As he anticipated her refusal, Roarke laid a hand on Eve’s knee, squeezed lightly. “Tea would be lovely.”
“Wonderful. I’ll pour. You’re excused,” she said to the droid, who slipped silently away. “Cream, lemon?”
“Neither, for either of us. No sugar, thanks.” Roarke took the lead. “You have an impressive home. Marvelous view.”
“The view was the pull. I could sit and watch the river for hours. All of our homes are near water of some kind. I feel very drawn to it.”
“You have this lovely home,” Eve put in, “but you stayed in Robert Kraus’s this trip.”
“We did. His wife – have you met her? Lovely woman. She extended the invitation, and it seemed like fun. We do have a nice time together. We enjoy cards.” After passing out the tea, she poured her own. “I’m afraid I don’t understand why that would be of interest to you.”
“Every detail of a murder investigation is of interest to me.”
“Then it’s still being investigated? I’d hoped it was all settled by now. Terrible thing. They were both so young. But surely you’re not looking at Robert?”
“Just getting the full picture. You knew Randall Sloan.”
“Of course. Now there’s a social butterfly. Such energy! Nothing stay-at-home about him.”
“I don’t know. He died there.”
“I’m sorry? What did you say?”
“Randall Sloan was found early this afternoon, hanging from the chandelier in the bedroom of his brownstone.”
“My God.” Madeline pressed a hand to her breasts. “Dear God. Randall? Dead?”
“When did you see or speak to him last?”
“I don’t… I can’t take this in. It’s such a shock. I… Please.” She reached over, tapped open a silver box. Inside was an intercom system. “Brown, please tell Mr. Chase to come down right away.”
Madeline sat back, pressed her fingers to her brow. “I’m sorry, this is such a shock. I knew the man nearly a decade. We were friends.”
“How close friends were you?”
Hot color streaked Madeline’s cheeks as she dropped her hands into her lap. “I realize you must ask questions at such a time, but I find the implication in that question in very poor taste.”
“Cops have very poor taste. Were you and he involved on a personal level?”
“Certainly not in the way you mean. We enjoyed each other’s company.”
“I’m told he persuaded you to bring your business to his father’s firm.”
“He did. Years ago. I found the firm’s reputation, ethics, and service more than satisfactory.”
“Robert Kraus was listed as your accountant.”
“That’s correct.”
“Yet Randall Sloan kept your books, the books for the foundation.”
“No, you’re mistaken. Robert does.”
“Randall Sloan oversaw the finances of the Bullock Foundation from day one, until his death.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, God! Win! Sloan is dead.”
Winfield Chase stopped short in his stride across the room. He had the look of his mother, the same strong build, same strong face, same glacier eyes. Then he moved quickly to take the hand she’d thrown out toward him.
“Randall? How did this happen? Has there been an accident?”
“His body was found today, hanging from a rope in his bedroom,” Eve said.
“He hanged himself? Why would he do such a thing?” Winfield demanded.
“I didn’t say he hanged himself.”
“You said…” Winfield checked himself as he stroked his mother’s hand. “You said he was found hanged, I assumed…” He widened his eyes. “Are you telling us he was murdered?”
She had to give him credit for the fancy British play on the word. It made it sound as if Randall should have been wearing a smoking jacket while he choked to death.
“I didn’t say that either. The matter is under investigation. And as the investigator I’ll ask you both where you were on Friday between the hours of six and ten P.M.”
“This is insulting! How dare you question my mother in this manner.” His fingers linked with Madeline’s now, and her free hand moved to rest on his thigh. “Do you know who she is?”
“Bullock, Madeline. Formerly Chase, born Madeline Catherine Forrester.” Their body language had something curling in her gut, but she kept her eyes steady. “And in case you don’t know who I am, it’s Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. Until the cause of death is determined by the Medical Examiner, this matter is being treated as an unattended, suspicious death. Answer the question.”