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She read official data, bios, society page squibs, interviews. He struck Eve as a tough-minded businessman who’d enjoyed his retirement, his pursuit of leisure activities. He’d suffered from and was being treated for hypertension. Slipped in the shower of his son’s weekend home in the Hamptons. Reaches for something, maybe he’s dizzy or just off-balance, then whoops, fractured skull when his head slams into the Italian marble.
Son, daughter-in-law, grandson, and several houseguests in residence at the time.
What if? Eve considered, then printed out Reginald Anders’s ID photo and data to add to her murder board. Back at her desk, she made a call to the Hampton investigator.
An hour later, her boots planted on her desk, she continued to study the board when Peabody came in.
“I think she did the old man,” Eve said.
“Yeah, I know.”
“No, the older old man. Reginald T. Anders. Maybe it was just a happy accident, one that inspired her, kicked off the rest, but she’s a schemer. Petty, too, as Leo said. The older old man slapped her back for padding her expense account. She wouldn’t like that one bit. And you know, I bet she already had the decorator lined up before he took his header in the shower, bumping her up to the wife of the head guy.”
“What?”
Eve shook her head. “The old man had essentially retired, turning the reins over, but he still held controlling interest. That seems to be a pattern with the Anders men. Shift the controls, but hold on to the power. He dies, Tommy inherits controlling interest, at which time he transfers a little bit to his devoted wife. I bet she asked for it, too. ‘Tommy, I hope it’s not too much to ask, but you know how I loved Reggie. If I could have just a few shares of the company, just a reminder of him, it would mean so much to me.’ Yeah, she could work that. Little sliver of the pie, just a taste while she waits for the bigger slice.”
“If she wanted a big slice, why didn’t she go after the old man? I mean, if she’d been able to work marrying him, she’d have cut out the middle man.”
“Bet she considered it,” Eve replied. “But he went for younger. About a decade younger than Ava would’ve been when she hooked Tommy.”
“Eeuuw.”
“And the eeuuw would be reason two. A man in his eighties marries a much younger woman, then croaks, who does everybody give the fish-eye to first?”
“The younger woman.”
“Which is exactly what the investigator did, though it looked accidental. He still took a hard look at the twenty-six-year-old aspiring actress who’d been sharing the old man’s bed for a few months. He did a skim over Tommy and Ben, the main beneficiaries. He never took more than a cursory glance at Ava.”
Peabody rolled it over. “If it’s playing accidental anyway, she wouldn’t pop out.”
“I bet the party, the house party, was her idea. Yeah, I bet it was. Perfect cover. Who’s going to notice if the busy hostess slips away for ten minutes? Less if she prepped it, and you can bet your ass she did.”
Simple, Eve thought. Quick and easy. “All she has to do is go in, strip down. Needs to strip down so she doesn’t get her clothes wet. Dad-in-law’s singing in the shower. Step in, give him a shove. Step out, towel off, get dressed. Take the towel with you to your own bath. Freshen your hair and makeup, join your guests. It wouldn’t take more than ten.”
She dropped her feet, swiveled, sent Peabody a hard smile. “And guess who noticed first that the old man was missing. Gee, where in the world is Reggie? He’s missing all the fun. Tommy, be a darling and go up and tell your father I’m making him the perfect martini.”
“Cold.”
“And smart. Can’t do the husband the same way, not even close to the same way. People might turn that fish-eye on you. Just might. Not a household or routine accident this time, too many accidents in the Anders family. And unfortunately, I can’t turn the eaten-by-a-shark incident on her.”
“Switch to murder,” Peabody said. “Juicy sensational murder that shines a big spotlight on it. Who’s going to try to connect a bathroom accident two years ago with a sex crime now? Except you.”
“It was supposed to look like kink gone wrong. An accident, technically, but yeah, a big, juicy, sensational accident. Or failing that, a sex crime. Partner gets pissed, doesn’t stop at the safe word. Either way, it works for her. It makes Anders responsible for his own death. Empty house this time, with her tucked in with pals thousands of miles away. She’s damn good at this. I need to…why are you in here?”
“Oh, I forgot wit
h all the singing in the shower. Bronx checked in. They enjoyed spaghetti Bolognese and manicotti, respectively, while sending intimidating looks toward Petrelli in the open kitchen. She left midway through her shift. Their waitress told them she screwed up two orders, then told the owner she was feeling ill. They’d be happy to go back tomorrow, try the stuffed eggplant and lasagna.”
“The sacrifices cops make. I don’t think it’s going to take that long. We’ll keep them on tap, but meanwhile I have to review the rest of this data on the old man, write up a report, the notes, get them to Mira for her take. I’ve still got the Nadine interviews to watch, and I want to dig up the old man’s girl toy, the rest of the houseguests, and reinterview. Then…you know, it was a lot easier when you were the aide and I could just dump the grunt work on you.”
“Aw. Besides, you still dump grunt work on me.”
“It’s not the same. Wait a minute. Wait.” Eve bolted up in her chair. “Every-fucking-body’s got aides and admins and personal assistants.”
“Except you.”
“And Ava. Where’s Ava’s? Study and review the reports and data on the Reginald Anders death, write up notes on the new theory we just discussed. Run the list of names of houseguests, start setting up interviews.”
