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Peabody glanced over at Eve. “I’d say zero, but that’s optimistic.”
“Yeah. Officer.” Eve signaled a uniform. “I want guards posted at every entrance, every exit.”
“Already done, sir.”
“I want the guards inside. Nobody leaves the building, not even a cop. Nobody comes in, especially reporters. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
A corridor bent off the wing, narrowed. Eve scanned the door, vaguely amused by the gold stars affixed to several of them. Name plaques were displayed as well. She stopped by the door marked for Areena Mansfield, knocked briefly, then walked in.
She only lifted her eyebrows when she saw Roarke sitting on a royal blue daybed, holding Areena’s hand.
The actress had yet to remove her stage makeup, and though tears had ravaged it, she was still stunning. Her eyes darted to Eve and were instantly full of fear.
“Oh God. Oh my God. Am I going to be arrested?”
“I need to ask you some questions, Ms. Mansfield.”
“They wouldn’t let me change. They said I couldn’t. His blood.” Her hands fluttered in front of her costume, fisted. “I can’t stand it.”
“I’m sorry. Dr. Mira, would you help Miss Mansfield out of her costume? Peabody will bag it.”
“Of course.”
“Roarke, outside please.” Eve stepped back to the door, opened it.
“Don’t worry, Areena. The lieutenant will sort this out.” After giving Areena’s hand a comforting squeeze, he rose and walked by Eve.
“I asked you to keep your ears open, not to cozy up with one of my suspects.”
“Trying to keep a hysterical woman lucid isn’t particularly cozy.” He blew out a breath. “I could use a very large brandy.”
“Well, go home and have one. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“I believe I can find what I need here.”
“Just go home,” she said again. “There’s nothing for you to do here.”
“As I’m not one of your suspects,” he added in a quiet voice, “and I own this theater, I believe I can come and go as I please.”
He ran a finger down her cheek and strolled off.
“You always do,” she muttered, then went back into the dressing room.
It seemed to Eve that dressing room was a lowly term for a space so large, so lush. A long, cream-toned counter held a forest of pots, tubes, wands, bottles, all arranged with soldierly precision. Over it all gleamed a wide triple mirror ringed with slim white lights.
There was the daybed, several cozy chairs, a full-sized AutoChef and friggie unit, a trim, mini-communication system. Wardrobe hung in a long closet area, open now so that Eve noted the costumes and street clothes were as precisely arranged as the makeup.
On every table, in groupings on the floor, were flowers. The over-fragranced air made Eve think of weddings. And funerals.
“Thank you. Thank you so much.” Areena shivered slightly as Mira helped her into a long white robe. “I don’t know how much longer I could have stood…I’d like to clean off my makeup.” Her hand reached for her throat. “I’d like to feel like myself.”
“Go ahead.” Eve made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. “This interview will be recorded. Do you understand?”
“I don’t understand anything.” With a sigh, Areena sat on the padded stool in front of her makeup mirror. “My mind seems numb, as if everything’s happening one step after it should be.”
“It’s a very normal reaction,” Mira assured her. “It often helps to talk about the event that caused the shock, to go over the details of it so they can be dealt with. Set aside.”
