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“Sticky.”
“Yeah, could be. Billy was easy. He was impulse and lust in addition to faith and righteousness. He knew I knew, and that just tipped it into my lap. If the killer confesses to López or Freeman, it’s going to bog down. They’ll use the sanctity of confession because they believe it.”
“And you don’t.”
“Hell no. You cop to a crime, the person you cop to has a responsibility to report it to the authorities.”
“Black-and-white.”
She scowled into her wine. “What am I supposed to see? Purple? There’s a reason we separate church and state. I’ve never figured how that deal slipped through the cracks in the divide.” She snagged one of the bread sticks spearing out of a tall glass.
“I don’t like the possibility of depending on a priest to convince a killer to turn himself in. Billy? Weak-spined little sanctimonious hypocrite, he couldn’t stomach what he did after the fact. Simple as that.”
She bit in, pointed the rest of the bread stick at Roarke. “But Lino’s killer? That one thought it through, worked it out, there’s some deep motive in there. May be revenge, may be profit, may be protection of self or another—but it’s no smoke screen like Billy’s ‘save the souls’ bullshit.”
Since it was pointed at him, Roarke stole the bread stick from her. “While I agree, I’m fascinated by the hard line you’re drawing over religion.”
“It gets used too much, as an excuse, a fall guy, a weapon, a con. A lot of people, maybe most, don’t mean it except when it suits them. Not like Luke Goodwin and López. They mean it. They live it. You can see it in them. Maybe that makes the bullshit harder to take. I don’t know.”
“And the killer? Does he mean it?”
“I’m thinking yeah. That’s why he’ll be harder to hang than Billy was. He means it, but he’s not a fanatic, not crazy. Otherwise there’d have been more, a follow-up, some sort of message to support the act.”
She shrugged, realized she should at least give him something more than murder over dinner. “So, anyway, I didn’t tell you about the fight I broke up today.”
“Successfully, I assume, as I see no visible wounds.”
“Bitch bit me.” Eve tapped her shoulder. “I got a damn good dental impression. Over a handbag. Not a mugging. A sale on purses. Ah, Laroche?”
“Ah, yes. Highly desired handbags, luggage, shoes.”
“I’ll say, as these two were ready to fight to the death over something called a triple roll. In peony. What the hell is peony?”
“A flower.”
“I know it’s a damn flower.” Or she probably did. “Is it a shape, smell, a color?”
“I’m going to assume color. And probably pink.”
“I told Mira, and she got this gleam in her eye. Called the shop right then and there and bought it.”
Roarke sat back and laughed just as Teresa brought their pizza. “I don’t have to tell you two to enjoy yourselves, but I hope you enjoy the pizza. Just let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Eve watched Teresa move—serving, chatting, picking up orders. “She’s got her groove, her routine. Knows her people—staff and customers. Doesn’t come off like a woman with a deep, dark secret.” Since she gauged the pizza had cooled enough that she could avoid scorching the roof of her mouth, she took a sampling bite. “And okay, damn good pie.”
“It is. She also doesn’t strike me as a woman who’d fight to the death over a pink designer handbag.”
“Huh?”
“Good, serviceable shoes, pretty jewelry, but far from flashy. She wears a wedding ring,” he added. “That says traditional. Her nails are short and tended, and unpainted. She has good skin, and wears—at least at work—minimal enhancers. I’ll wager she’s a woman who takes care of herself, and who likes nice things—things that last—and takes care of what she has as well.”
Eve smiled at him over another bite. “You’re looking with cop’s eyes.”
“It’s rude to insult me when I’m buying you dinner. I’ll also wager her handbag is as good and serviceable as her shoes, and that she’d be as baffled as you are by anyone biting a cop over a pink purse.”
“I don’t disagree.” Eve caught a long string of cheese, folded it back over the slice. “But none of that means she wasn’t aware her firstborn was across the bridge, playing a long con.”
“But you don’t think so.”
