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“Maybe the kid was protecting Mommy.”
“Okay, wait.” Peabody climbed into the car. “First, let’s remember we’re talking about a ten-year-old girl.”
“Kids have been known to kill.” She’d only been eight when she’d killed her father. When she’d stabbed him over and over and over.
“Yeah, generally out of panic, fear, rage, impulse. But generally a nice, upper-class ten-year-old girl doesn’t spike the teacher’s go-cup with ricin. It’s a little extreme.”
“Yeah, it is. Maybe she didn’t know she was poisoning him. Mom says, ‘Hey, let’s play a game. Let’s trick Mr. Foster today.’”
“It’s pretty hard for me to swallow that a mother gets her kid to off a teacher because she’s been having private lessons from another.”
No, Eve decided, it didn’t bounce very well. Still. “It’s worth dropping by and chatting with her.”
The Straffos’ penthouse topped a sleek silver bullet of a building that afforded river views from its shimmering glass windows and wide terraces.
Both the doorman and building security were appropriately snooty, but also efficient enough to verify the police identification and clear them within moments.
The door of the penthouse was opened by a young woman with freckles dusting a wholesome face that was topped by carrot-red hair. Her brogue was as thick as a slice of brown bread.
It gave Eve a quick hitch in the belly to hear it, to think of Roarke.
“The missus will be right with you. She and Rayleen are just finishing breakfast. What would you like me to bring you then? Coffee, tea?”
“We’re good, thanks. What part of Ireland are you from?”
“I’m from Mayo. Do you know it?”
“Not really.”
“It’s lovely, so you’ll see if you have the chance to visit. I’ll take your coats, shall I?”
“That’s all right.” Eve followed her down the wide foyer—a sweep of steps to the right, open archways leading to open rooms with tall, tall windows. “How long have you worked for the Straffos?”
“That’d be six months now. Please make yourself at home.” She gestured toward the sleek twin sofas plumped with gel pillows. There was a fireplace, flush and white against the wall, the flames turned on in an eerie blue that matched the
fabrics. Tables were clear cubes with lush flowers spiking and trailing inside them.
“Are you sure I can’t bring you something hot to drink? It’s a cold one out there today. Ah, here comes the missus now. And there’s our princess.”
Allika was blonde like her daughter, but with highlights expertly streaked through the short swing of hair. She had eyes the color of ripe blueberries and skin as white and soft as milk. She wore a trim sweater set to match her eyes, and stone-gray pants that showed off long legs.
She held her daughter’s hand.
Rayleen’s face was bright and eager. “Mom, these are the police who came to school. This is Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. Did you come to tell us you found out what happened to Mr. Foster?”
“We’re still working on that.”
“Rayleen, you need to go with Cora now and get your coat. You don’t want to be late for school.”
“Couldn’t I stay and talk, too? It would be an excused absence, like a doctor’s appointment, and wouldn’t count against my attendance.”
“Not today.”
“But I’m the one who found him. I’m a witness.” Even as Rayleen pouted, Allika took her daughter’s face in her hands, kissed both her cheeks.
“Be my good girl now and go with Cora. I’ll see you when you get home from school.”
Rayleen let out a heavy sigh. “I wish I could stay and talk,” she said to Eve, but went obediently with Cora.
