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“No, seriously.”
“Who said I wasn’t?” He took her arm, led her through the crowd.
“Let’s pretend you’re someone less annoying.”
“Ah. All right. If you’d broken my heart, I’d attempt to pick up the shattered pieces and rebuild my life. But I’d never forget you. What have you got?”
“Peabody’s got a theory about love, the love of your life. I’m playing with it.”
“I can tell you, you’re mine.”
“No kissing,” she hissed, seeing the intent in his eyes. “I’m on duty here. There’s Michael Proctor. Smiling. I went over his financials, and he paid over ten K for that dental work, while he lives in a sty. He’s chatting with that slick-looking woman over there. He doesn’t look so shook up or bumbling now.”
“He’s talking with Marcina, one of the top screen producers in the business. Could be your boy is hoping for a career shift.”
“Less than a week ago, the stage was his life. Interesting. Let’s see how he holds up.”
She worked her way over, noted the instant Proctor saw her. His eyes widened, his head drooped, and his shoulders hunched in. Presto-chango, Eve thought, from debonair leading man to fumbling second lead in a blink. The magic of theater.
“Proctor.”
“Ah, ah, Lieutenant Dallas. I didn’t realize you’d be attending.”
“I get around.” Deliberately, she scanned the theater. “I guess Quim can’t expect this kind of send-off.”
“Quim? Oh.” He had the grace, or the skill, to flush. “No, no, I suppose not. Richard was…he was known and respected by so many people.”
“A lot of them sure are toasting him.” She leaned over, studied the pretty bubbles in the glass he held. “With premium champagne.”
“He would have expected no less.” This from the woman Roarke had identified as Marcina. “This event suits him perfectly.” She shifted her gaze over Eve’s shoulder, then beamed. “Roarke! I wondered if I’d see you here.”
“Marcina.” He stepped up, lightly kissed her cheek. “You’re looking well.”
“I’m very well. Dallas,” she said after a moment, and pinned Eve with her sharp gaze. “Of course. This must be your wife. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Lieutenant.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Proctor said.
“Don’t run off on my account,” Eve told Proctor, but he was already edging away.
“I see a friend.” He dived into the crowd like a man leaping overboard.
“I assume you’re on duty?” Marcina skimmed a glance over Eve’s trousers and serviceable jacket. “You’re investigating Richard’s death.”
“That’s right. Would you mind telling me what you and Proctor were talking about?”
“Is he a suspect?” Lips pursed, Marcina looked over to where Proctor had disappeared. “Fascinating. Actually, it was shop talk. Michael has the right look for a screen project I’m putting together. We were discussing the possibility of him coming out to New L.A. for a few days.”
“And is he?”
“Perhaps. But he’s committed to his current play. He’s quite looking forward to taking Richard’s place onstage. Not that he put it quite so tactlessly. My people will be talking to his people, as it were, over the next week or two to see if we can work something out. He hoped that the theater will reopen very soon.”
• • •
The minute Eve stepped outside, she took a deep gulp of air thick with the stink of smoke from glide-carts, screaming with the noise of street and air traffic. She preferred it over the sweetly perfumed air inside.
“Proctor isn’t letting Draco get cold before he steps into his shoes.”
“He sees an opportunity,” Roarke commented.
