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“We can take this somewhere else.”
“That’s okay, no problem. I’ll have myself some breakfast in bed. That’s a treat.”
She walked off to the kitchen, and Peabody sent Eve a worried look. “Oh-oh.”
“Yeah, something’s off with them. I caught the buzz from Charles last night.”
Louise came back with a pretty place setting on a pretty silver tray. “Hi to Roarke and McNab,” she said, then disappeared into the bedroom.
Charles stepped out of the kitchen looking as tired and stressed as his lover. “Dallas. Peabody.” He crossed over to buss cheeks. “You got consent.”
“On record.” Eve took out her recorder, played back the statement.
“That’ll work. So.” He gestured to seats, took one of his own. “What do you want to know?”
“How did Ava Anders contact you?”
“By ’link. I have a business-only line.”
“How did she strike you?”
“Nervous, and trying hard not to show it. Which is how she struck me on our first appointment.”
“Where was the first appointment?”
“I looked that up after you left last night. The Blackmore Hotel, downtown. It’s a busy place, which is what she wanted. She checked in, contacted me to give me the room number. This way, I could go straight up, but no one would see us together.”
“Okay, this is weird, but what did she want?”
“Initially, to talk. She’d ordered lunch, and wine, which we had in the parlor of the suite. We talked—if I remember—about literature, plays, art. For some, this first interlude with a professional is very much like a first date, where you do the surface getting-to-know-you routine.”
He glanced toward the bedroom where Louise, presumably, ate her breakfast in bed. “As we got to know each other over the course of time, I understood that her husband wasn’t as interested in literature and so forth as he was in sports. So I could offer her that.”
“Did she talk about her husband?”
“Not a great deal. It…spoils the mood. She might mention, usually afterward, when we were talking over a drink or coffee, that they were going on a trip, or having a dinner party, that sort of thing.”
“How did she feel about him, Charles? You’d know.”
“When she spoke of him, she spoke warmly, or casually, the way you do when someone’s an intricate part of your life. I remember she’d been shopping once before an appointment and showed me a shirt she’d picked up for him. She said how handsome he’d look in it.”
“Sexually, what was she after?”
“She liked to be tended to. She liked the lights off—a few candles were fine, but if we met during the day, which was most usual, the drapes had to be closed.”
“You’d classify her as inhibited?”
“Traditional. Very. And maybe a bit self-involved. As I said, she wanted to be tended to. She wasn’t as interested in touching as much as being touched. I can say that I noticed in the last few appointments something was off. She was distracted, edgy. She asked me if I ever went to clients’ homes—married clients. And if I knew other LCs who did, was it unusual to pay in cash. And she asked if I had a name and address of a client, if I could find the LC hired to go there.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I only accepted home appointments from married clients if both spouses agreed, but that others have different policies in that area. Cash always works,” he added with a smile. “And that it would be difficult with only a name and address to locate the LC booked. Considering the number of agencies, freelancers, levels, it wouldn’t be an easy task.”
“Had she tried to contact
you since her husband’s death?”
“No.”
