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“Mr. Easterday isn’t receiving today.”
“We’re not looking for a reception. Just tell him the cops are here.”
“You can wait in the foyer—it’s very cold. I’ll ask Mr. Easterday if he’ll see you.”
White marble floors and heavy dark wood gave the generous foyer what Eve thought of as in-your-face dignity. She glanced up at the many-tiered chandelier, and thought that’s where they’d hang him if they got the chance.
Belatedly she remembered the cap, pulled it off, finger-combing her hair as she stuffed it in her pocket.
Seconds later a woman started down the long sweep of stairs.
She wore a black suit, but unlike the first there was nothing simple in this one. It fit the svelte body in a way designed to show off lines and curves, and it shimmered subtly in the crystal rain of the chandelier.
The deep blond hair had been twisted back into a knot at the nape of a long neck, leaving the face unframed. Easterday’s wife might have hit the half-century mark, Eve thought, but she knew how to turn back the clock.
“Lieutenant, Detective, I’m Petra Easterday.” She extended a slim hand with a glinting diamond to Eve, then Peabody. “My husband is indisposed. He learned of a close friend’s death this morning.”
“That’s why we’re here. That would be his second close friend in the last two days.”
“Yes, and Marshall is simply shattered. In fact, I was just upstairs trying to convince him to take a soother and lie down.”
Worry naked on her face, Petra glanced toward the stairs. “I’m happy to do anything I can to help you, but my husband simply can’t be disturbed at this time.” Even as she spoke, they heard footsteps descending. Petra sighed. “Oh, Marshall, you need to rest.”
“Petra, the police are only doing their job.”
He didn’t look shattered, Eve mused, but he certainly looked dented. Dark circles under his eyes, lines of strain around his mouth showed a man carrying grief.
While a tall man, he seemed to stoop as if his shoulders carried far too heavy a weight.
He also wore a black suit, with a black mourning band, and a quiet blue tie in a Double Windsor.
“Petra, dear, I could use some coffee.”
When she merely cocked an eyebrow, he smiled a little. “Tea then. If you would.”
“I’ll see to it. I hope you’ll both respect that my husband is grieving,” Petra said before she left them.
“She’s feeling very protective, understandably. Lieutenant Dallas, isn’t it? And Detective...”
“Peabody.”
“Yes, of course. Please, let’s go in, sit down.”
The front parlor continued the formality of the foyer, offset just a bit by a small, cheerful fire in a white marble hearth. The flowers here were red as blood roses; the big, boxy sofa was covered in a fussy floral print that made sitting on it feel like squatting in a garden.
Easterday took a chair with wide wings, sighed.
“It feels—it all feels impossible. I hadn’t gotten my mind around Edward, and now Jonas. Do you have a suspect?”
“We can’t discuss the details of the investigation. I’m sorry for the loss of your friends,” Eve continued, “and understand this is a difficult time for you.”
“I haven’t practiced criminal law in more than two decades—I leave that to my daughter—but I know how it’s done. Do you have questions for me that may help in your investigation?”
“Yes. You’ve lost two friends in two days, Mr. Easterday, to murder. Men you’ve known since college—about fifty years—and have stayed close to. Close enough so your name is on a short list.”
His eyes widened. “Of suspects?”
“No, sir. Of victims.”
