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The computerized voice intoned polite reserve.
Please state your name and your business.
“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. NYPSD.” Eve held up her badge to be scanned. “Our business is with Ms. Quigley and Mr. Copley.”
Your identification has been verified. One moment please.
“People ought to answer their own doors once in a while,” Eve said, “just to see what it feels like.”
“You have Summerset,” Peabody pointed out. “And a really big gate.”
Before Eve could respond, the door opened. A woman—no a droid, Eve realized quickly—in a smart gray uniform smiled with the same reserved politeness as the security comp. “Please come in. Ms. Quigley will see you.”
The house opened up to a soaring three-story foyer. Free-form silver chandeliers dripped down, showering light over what Eve thought might be the original wood floors.
That space flowed into a living area where a fire snapped inside a black marble hearth, a tree draped in crystals and red ribbon glittered, and two women sat on a massive circular sofa drinking clear liquid out of martini glasses.
They were both blond, both lookers, with enough similarities in sharp features and coloring for Eve to surmise family connection.
One—the oldest by maybe five years in Eve’s estimation—tapped the cushion beside her. A sleek, narrow arm glided up. She set her drink on it, rose.
“I’m Natasha Quigley. This must be about Trey. Martella just told me he was murdered. My sister. We’re both clients. Actually, we’re all clients. My husband and hers. How can we help?”
“When did you last see or speak with Mr. Ziegler?”
“I—oh, I’m sorry, this has been a shock. Please, sit down. Can I offer you anything?”
“We’re fine, thanks.” Eve took a chair with a low, semicircular back. Everything in the room seemed to follow the round theme.
“Sorry.” Natasha sat again. “I think this is the first time we’ve had police in the house—officially. I had my usual Tuesday morning session with Trey. I work with him twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays, ten A.M. Thursdays I follow the workout with a massage. We didn’t have a session scheduled today as he was going out of town to a conference.”
“And you, Mrs. Schubert? Since you’re here.”
“Oh.” Martella took a quick sip of her drink, bit her lip. “It would’ve been Wednesday morning. I was Wednesday mornings and Friday afternoons. So, um, yesterday morning. Tilly said he died yesterday, but I saw him, and he was fine.”
“Tilly?” Eve prompted.
“Tilly Burke. She heard from Lola. You went to see Lola, and she talked to Tilly. Tilly didn’t work with Trey, she worked with Flora because she wanted a female
trainer, but she knew Trey. Everyone knew Trey.”
She paused, drank again. “I’m talking too much.”
“Yes, you are.” Natasha patted her on the leg. “It’s upsetting.”
“It feels awful.”
“How long were you clients, specifically of Mr. Ziegler’s?”
“It must be six months now. A little longer for you, Tella.”
“I switched to BB. Tilly and I used to go to Sensible Fitness but they just got really boring, and BB had just remodeled, done a whole vamp of their locker rooms. It has such a good feel, so we joined, then Tash joined when I told her how much more I liked it. Then I started working with Trey. He really upped my game. I bought Trey for Lance for his last birthday.”
“She means she bought her husband weekly personal training sessions,” Natasha explained. “Tella raved so, I took a two-week trial with him myself and I was hooked.”
“Did you socialize with him?”
“Socialize?” Natasha lifted an eyebrow as if the question baffled her. “You mean personally? I had lunch with him a few times in the juice bar to discuss fitness options and strategies.”
