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“You don’
t care much for Areena Mansfield either.”
“I don’t have strong feelings about her one way or the other.” Carly tilted her head, lifted one eyebrow in a high arch. “Why do you ask?”
“You weren’t very sympathetic when she fainted.”
The smile came back, bright enough to play to the back rows. “A damn graceful faint, wasn’t it? Actors, Lieutenant Dallas, you can’t trust them.”
With a casual toss of her hair, she made her exit.
“So,” Eve murmured, “who’s performing?”
“Lieutenant.” One of the sweepers, a young, fresh-faced woman, marched up to Eve. Her baggy protective jumpsuit made little swishing noises with each step. “Got a little toy here I think you’ll want to take a look at.”
“Well, well.” Eve took the evidence bag, pursed her lips as she studied the knife. Through the clear plastic she fingered the tip of the blade, felt it retract. “Where’d you find this, ah…” She scanned the name stitched on the breast of the dull gray jumpsuit. “Lombowsky.”
“In a vase full of genuine long-stemmed red roses. Nice flowers. The room was packed with them like it was a state funeral or something. Areena Mansfield’s dressing room.”
“Good work.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Do you know where Mansfield is?”
“She’s in the cast lounge. Your man’s with her.”
“Peabody?”
“No, sir. Your husband.” Lombowsky waited until Eve scowled down at the prop knife before she dared to raise her eyebrows. It had been her first up-close look at Roarke, and she considered him worth two big eyesful.
“Finish the sweep, Lombowsky.”
“On it, Lieutenant.”
Eve strode offstage and caught Peabody coming out of a dressing room. “I’ve got four of the interviews scheduled.”
“Fine. Change of plan for tonight.” Eve held up the dummy knife. “Sweepers found this in Mansfield’s dressing room, tucked in with some roses.”
“You going to charge her?”
“Her lawyer’d get her bounced before I got her into Central. It’s awfully damn pat, isn’t it, Peabody? She kills him in front of a packed house and stashes the prop knife in her own dressing room. Very neat or very stupid.” Eve turned the evidence bag over in her hands. “Let’s see what she has to say about it. Where’s the cast lounge?”
“Lower level. We can take the stairs.”
“Fine. You know anything about actors?”
“Sure. Free-Agers are big on all the arts. My mother did some little theater when I was coming up, and two of my cousins are actors. Live stage work and small screen stuff. And my great-grandmother was a performance artist in San Francisco before she retired. Then there’s my—”
“Okay, all right.” Shaking her head, Eve clattered down the stairs. “How did you stand all those people crowding into your life?”
“I like people,” Peabody said cheerfully.
“Why?”
Since it wasn’t a question that required an answer, Peabody gestured to the left as they came to the bottom of the steps. “You like them, too. You just pretend to be snarly.”
“I am snarly. If and when I cut Mansfield loose, or she lawyers, I want you to stick with her. If she goes home, settles in, call for a couple of uniforms to watch her place. We’ve got enough for a surveillance clearance. I want to know where she goes and what she does.”
