Haunted in Death (In Death #22.5)(9)

“I bet the killer thinks so, too.“

Sarcasm flew over Dickhead like a puffy white cloud in a sunny blue sky. “Weapon was cleaned and oiled. Really shined it up. But…“

He grinned again, tapped again. “What you’re looking at here is dust. Brick dust, drywall dust. Samples the sweepers took from the secondary crime scene. And here? Traces of dust found inside the weapon. Perfect match.“

“Indicating that the gun was bricked up with the body.“

“Guess Bobbie got tired of haunting the place and decided to take a more active role.“

And that, Eve determined, didn’t warrant even sarcasm as a response. “Shoot the reports to my home and office units, copy to Peabody’s. Your sculptor gets an image, I want to see it.“

She headed out again, pulling out her ‘link as it beeped. “Dallas.“

“Arrest any ghosts lately?“

“No. And I’m not planning on it. Why aren’t you in a meeting about world domination?“

“Just stepped out,“ Roarke told her. “My curiosity’s been nipping at me all day. Any leads?“

“Leads might be a strong word. I have avenues. I’m heading to one now. The vic was selling off his stuff – antique popular culture stuff, I gather – to some place uptown. I’m going to check it out.“

“What’s the address?“

“Why?“

“I’ll meet you. I’ll be your expert consultant on antiques and popular culture. You can pay my fee with food and sex.“

“It’s going to be pizza, and I think I’ve got a long line to credit on the sex.“

But she gave him the address.

After ending the transmission, she called the collectibles shop to tell the proprietor to stay open and available. On a hunch, she asked if they carried any Bobbie Bray memorabilia.

And was assured they had the most extensive collection in the city.

Interesting.

Four

He beat her there, and was being served coffee and fawning attention by a young, elegant redhead in a slick black suit.

Eve couldn’t blame the woman. Roarke was ridiculously handsome, and could, if it served him, ooze charm like pheromones. It seemed to suit him now as he had the redhead flushed and fluttering as she offered cookies with the coffee.

Eve figured she’d benefit from Roarke’s charisma herself. She hardly ever got cookies on the job.

“Ah, here’s the lieutenant now. Lieutenant Dallas, this is Maeve Buchanan, our hostess, and the daughter of the proprietor.“

“Is the proprietor here?“

“My wife. Straight to business. Coffee, darling?“

“Sure. This is some place.“

“We’re very happy with it,“ Maeve agreed.

It was pretty, bright – like their hostess – and charmingly organized. Nothing at all like the cluttered junk heap Eve had expected. Art and posters lined the walls, but in a way she supposed someone might arrange them in their home if they were crazy enough to want things everywhere.

Still, tables, display cabinets, shining shelves held memorabilia in a way that escaped the jumbled, crowded stocking style many shops of its kind were victim to. Music was playing unobtrusively – something full of instruments and certainly not of the current era. It added an easy appeal.

“Please, have a seat,“ Maeve invited. “Or browse if you like. My father’s just in the back office. He’s on the ‘link with London.“

“Late for business over there,“ Eve commented.

“Yes. Private collector. Most of our business is from or to private collections.“ Maeve swept a wave of that pretty red hair back from her face. “Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?“

“You’ve bought a number of pieces over the last several months from Radcliff C. Hopkins.“

“Mr. Hopkins, of course. Nineteen-sixties through Eighties primarily. We acquired a number of pieces from him. Is there a problem?“

“For Hopkins there is. He was killed last night.“

“Oh!“ Her cheery, personal-service smile flashed into shock. “Killed? Oh my God.“

“Media’s run reports on it through the day.“

“I… I hadn’t heard.“ Maeve’s hands were pressed to her cheeks, and her round blue eyes were wide. “We’ve been open since ten. We don’t keep any current screen shows or radio on in the shop. Spoils the… the timeless ambiance. My father’s going to be so upset.“

“They were friends?“

“Friendly, certainly. I don’t know what to say. He was in only a few weeks ago. How did he die?“

“The details are confidential.“ For the moment, Eve thought. There were always leaks and the media couldn’t wait to soak them up, wring them dry. “I can tell you he was murdered.“

Maeve had a redhead’s complexion, and her already pale skin went bone white. “Murdered? This is horrible. It’s – “ She turned as a door in the back opened.

The man who came out was tall and thin, with the red hair he’d passed to his daughter dusted with a little silver. He had eyes of quiet green, and a smile of greeting ready. It faded when he saw his daughter’s face.

“Maeve? What’s the matter? Is there a problem?“