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She smelled coffee and someone’s take-out breakfast while voices clashed, ’links jangled, keyboards clattered.
If you took away the fancy floors and colors, the fashionable wardrobe and footwear, it wasn’t much different from her own bullpen.
They wound through, past offices with doors firmly closed, and to the corner office with the double doors signaling its rank.
As these were open, he stepped straight in.
“Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody.”
“Thanks, Aiden—two seconds.” She tapped her earpiece. “I’m back. If you take care of your end on that, I’ll take care of mine. By end of day. That’s great. We’ll talk later. Bye now.”
She rose as she signed off, a small, slender woman in a soft gray suit with a little frill of white over the cleavage. She wore her hair, flaming, fiery red, in curls that spilled to her shoulders.
She came around the desk, assessing Eve with dark green eyes.
“Tressa MacDonald.” She held out a hand, shook Eve’s, then Peabody’s with a brisk, firm grip. “Someone’s hurt or worse. I know who you are,” she explained in a voice as brisk and firm as her handshake. “I know your reputation. You’re Homicide. If someone’s dead, would you tell me quickly?”
“There’s been no homicide or death I know of at this time.”
Tressa let out a short breath. “All right, that’s a relief. Please, sit. Can I offer you coffee? Aiden’s assistant makes a killer latte.”
“I’d love one,” Peabody said before Eve could deny them both.
“That’s two lattes. Lieutenant?”
“Just coffee. Straight coffee. Black.”
“Thanks, Aiden.” Tressa gestured to her sitting area, taking the sofa in nearly the same shade as her eyes while Eve and Peabody sat in deep blue chairs. “What’s this about?”
“Yesterday at approximately five P.M. Edward Mira was assaulted—”
“What?” Tressa’s spine snapped straight. “Where is he? How seriously was he hurt?”
“I can’t tell you because he’s missing.”
“What do you mean ‘missing’? I don’t—” She stopped herself, shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know better. One second.” She looked away, drew a breath, then another, slower. “Please, tell me what you know.”
“Were you aware that Senator Mira had an appointment yesterday with a real estate agent regarding the sale of a property he owns with his cousin Dennis Mira?”
“No.” She rubbed two fingers over the space between her eyes. “No, I wasn’t aware.”
“Do you know the name of the Realtor he worked with?”
“He’d worked with Silas Greenbaum—Greenbaum Realty—until recently.”
“Until recently?”
“Yes.” She glanced over as Aiden brought in the coffee, with a dish of thin cookies, on a tray. “Thanks, Aiden. Do you know what Realtor the senator was using?”
“No, I don’t, not since he severed ties with Greenbaum.”
“Check with Liddy, would you? See who he had an appointment with regarding the Spring Street property yesterday.”
“Of course.”
“And close the door please, Aiden. You believe whoever he met assaulted him?”
“He was assaulted in the house. His cousin Dennis Mira entered the property, followed the sound of voices to the study. He saw Edward Mira, injured, started in to assist him, and was himself attacked from behind.”
