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The curtains were closed, but when they entered the room the rim of the tables illuminated.
“Please be comfortable.” Li gestured to the chairs. “Carmichael will be with you in just a moment.”
Ignoring her, Eve studied a mood screen. Soft pastels dripped down in this one, melting from pinks into blues into golds into pinks again. Smith’s voice crooned in the background.
“I already feel queasy,” Eve muttered. “I should’ve pressed to have him come into Central, where things are normal.”
“I heard you dislocated some mope’s jaw yesterday.” Peabody kept her face sober. “Some people don’t consider that actually normal in the day to day.”
“Some people don’t know diddly.” She turned back as Smith made his entrance.
“How nice to see you both again.” He made a flowing movement with his arms to indicate chairs. It had the wide sleeves of his shirt fluttering. “We’re having something cool and citrus. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”
He arranged himself in a chair as one of his staff placed a tray on a long glass table. “I’m told you’ve been trying to get in touch,” he continued as he poured liquid from pitcher to glasses. “I can’t imagine why, but must apologize for being unavailable.”
“Your rep called my commander,” Eve said. “So I imagine you have some idea.”
“Another apology forthcoming.” He picked up one of the glasses, held it in both of his handsome hands. “My agent is overprotective, which, naturally, is his job. Just the idea that the media could get wind that I’d spoken to you regarding such a terrible matter worries him. I told him I trusted you to be absolutely discreet, but . . .” He shrugged elegantly, sipped.
“I’m not looking for publicity, I’m looking for a murderer.”
“You won’t find one here. This is a place of peace and tranquillity.”
“Peace and tranquillity.” Eve nodded, watching his face. “I’d guess that sort of thing’s important to you.”
“Vital, as it should be to everyone. The world is a canvas, and on it is painted great beauty. All we have to do is look.”
“Peace and tranquillity and beauty are more vital to someone who grew up without them. To a man who was systematically and regularly abused as a child. Battered and beaten. Do you pay your mother to keep quiet about it, or just to keep her away?”
The glass in Smith’s hand shattered, and a thin line of blood dripped down his palm.
Chapter 14
Shards of glass hitting the floor had, in Eve’s opinion, a more interesting musical note than the continued coo of Smith’s recorded voice.
She doubted any of his fans would recognize him now, with all the negative energy twisting his face. His bloody hand still clenched the shattered drinking glass.
She could hear his labored breaths before he sprang to his feet. She got to her own, slowly, and prepared to deflect any assault.
But he simply threw his head back, like a great dog about to bay, and howled out for Li.
She came on the run, bare feet slapping the floor and filmy robes flapping the air.
“Oh, Carmichael! Oh, you poor thing. You’re bleeding. Should I call the doctor? Should I call an ambulance?” She patted her own cheeks in rapid tat-tats.
While tears welled in his eyes, he held out his bleeding hand. “Do something.”
“Jesus.” Eve stepped forward, grabbed his injured hand, twisted it over to take a look at the cut. “Get a towel, some water, antiseptic, bandages. It’s not deep enough to worry the MTs.”
“But his hands, his beautiful hands. Carmichael is an artist.”
“Yeah, well, he’s an artist with a cut across his palm. No puncture. Peabody? Got a handkerchief?”
“Right here, Lieutenant.”
Taking it, Eve wrapped the cut while Li raced off, probably to call up a cosmetic surgeon.
“Sit down, Carmichael. You’re barely scratched.”
