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“Yes, of course. Please, let’s go in, sit down.”
The front parlor continued the formality of the foyer, offset just a bit by a small, cheerful fire in a white marble hearth. The flowers here were red as blood roses; the big, boxy sofa was covered in a fussy floral print that made sitting on it feel like squatting in a garden.
Easterday took a chair with wide wings, sighed.
“It feels—it all feels impossible. I hadn’t gotten my mind around Edward, and now Jonas. Do you have a suspect?”
“We can’t discuss the details of the investigation. I’m sorry for the loss of your friends,” Eve continued, “and understand this is a difficult time for you.”
“I haven’t practiced criminal law in more than two decades—I leave that to my daughter—but I know how it’s done. Do you have questions for me that may help in your investigation?”
“Yes. You’ve lost two friends in two days, Mr. Easterday, to murder. Men you’ve known since college—about fifty years—and have stayed close to. Close enough so your name is on a short list.”
His eyes widened. “Of suspects?”
“No, sir. Of victims.”
Now he glanced quickly toward the foyer. “That sort of statement will upset my wife.”
“She’ll be more upset if I come back here to notify her of your murder.”
He shoved out of the chair. “This is ridiculous. No one has any cause to kill me.”
“But did to kill your friends?”
He sat again, spread his hands. “Edward was my friend, and has been more than half my life. As his friend I can say he could be difficult, even abrasive. No doubt he made enemies in politics, as a senator, and now through his institute.”
He’d known this was coming, Eve thought. Known there would be a list and he’d be on it. Grief aside, he’d prepared.
“And Jonas Wymann?” she asked him.
“Politics again. Surely you’ve made that connection. Jonas was brilliant, but his views were not always popular, and he’s wielded considerable influence for many, many years
.”
“There are other connections,” Eve began.
Petra walked into the room just ahead of the housekeeper, who wheeled a large tea tray.
“Thank you, Marian. I’ll pour out.”
The housekeeper didn’t quite curtsy, but Eve sensed it was implied.
“I can deal with this, Petra.”
“I’m not leaving.” She spoke pleasantly, but the steel beneath was more than implied. “Cream? Sugar?” she said to Eve.
“No thanks.”
“Detective?”
“A little cream, two sugars. Thanks.”
“There’s no point in arguing, Marshall,” she continued as she poured the tea. “I’m staying. You were saying something about connections, Lieutenant.”
“The two victims have more in common with each other, and with you, Mr. Easterday, than politics.”
Petra made a sound—not quite a gasp—and passed Eve tea that Eve didn’t want. “You think Marshall . . . This person who killed Edward and Jonas, you think he might try to hurt Marshall?”
