Conspiracy in Death

"That's understandable. They're friends as well as colleagues."

"Maybe Mira can give me some personal data on this group."

Roarke caught the change in rhythm of the music. "The fashion show's about to start. We'll have to mingle with Mira later. She seems to be having a very intense conversation at the moment."

Eve had seen that for herself. Cagney bent down close, kept one hand on Mira's arm. He was, Eve noted, doing most of the talking, with a hard, focused look in his eyes that indicated what he said was both vital and unpleasant.

Mira merely shook her head, said little, then, laying a hand on his, patted it once before stepping away.

"He's upset her." The almost fierce sense of protection surprised her. "Maybe I should see what's wrong."

But then the music flashed, the crowd swirled to insure good views for the fashion display. Eve lost sight of Mira and found herself face to face with Louise.

"Dallas." Louise nodded coolly. Her hair was styled and sleek, her siren-red dress simply and beautifully cut. The diamonds in her ears didn't look like simulations. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Same goes." Or to see you, Eve thought, looking polished, perfumed, and prosperous. "You're a long way from the clinic, Dr. Dimatto."

"You're a long way from Cop Central, Lieutenant."

"I live to socialize," Eve said so dryly that Louise's lips twitched.

"About as much as I do, I imagine. I'm Louise Dimatto." She held out a hand to Roarke. "I'm going to be consulting on a case for your wife. I believe we'll either be fast friends or hate each other before we're done."

Roarke gri

"Haven't quite figured the odds yet." She glanced over to watch the first models parade down the runway. "They always make me think of giraffes."

"Giraffes are more fun to watch," Eve commented. "Seems to me if Drake took all the bucks they sank into putting this fundraiser together, they wouldn't need a damn fundraiser."

"Darling, you're much too logical to understand the purpose of show and beg. The more expensive the event, the higher the donation ticket, and the heartier those involved pat each other on the back after counting the till."

"And then you add the social co

Eve snorted. "Some pillar."

"I think Louise understands that anyone over a certain financial position automatically becomes a pillar."

"And his wife attains the same status."

"Cops make lousy pillars." Eve shifted her gaze from the display of the hot look for upcoming spring and studied Louise. "So we've established why Roarke and I are here, but what about you? How does a doctor doing time at a free clinic rate a ticket to a major event for Drake?"

"By being the niece of the chief of staff." Louise managed to reach through bodies and snag a flute of champagne. She used it to toast.

"You're Cagney's niece?"

"That's right."

Friends, colleagues, relatives, Eve thought. An incestuous little group – and such groups tended to band together like mud balls to block outsiders. "And what are you doing working in an armpit instead of uptown?"

"Because, Lieutenant, I do what I want. I'll see you in the morning." She nodded to Roarke, then slipped through the crowd.

Eve turned to her husband. "I've just taken on a consultant who's the niece of one of my suspects."

"Will you keep her?"

"For the time being," Eve murmured. "We'll see how it shakes out."

After the last long-legged model had glided down the silver ramp and the music had subdued to a shimmer to lure couples onto the glossy tiles of the dance floor, Eve tried to identify what form of nutrition was disguised in the arty structure of shape and color on her di

Beside her, too excited to eat, Mavis bounced on her seat. "Leonardo's designs were the aces, weren't they? None of the others were in the same orbit. Roarke, you've got to buy that backless-to-the-butt red number for Dallas."

"That color wouldn't suit her." Leonardo, his huge hand covering both of Mavis's, looked down at her. His gold-toned eyes shone with love and relief. He was built like a redwood and had the heart, and often the nerves, of a six-year-old approaching the first day of school.

He had indeed, as Mavis had so elegantly put it, woofed before the show.

"Now the green satin…" He smiled shyly over at Roarke. "I admit I had her in mind when I designed it. The color and cut are perfect for her."

"Then she'll have to have it. Won't you, Eve?"

Preoccupied with finding out if there was anything resembling meat or one of its substitutes on her plate, she merely grunted. "Is this chicken buried in here or what?"

"It's Cuisine Artiste," Roarke told her, and offered her a roll the size of a credit chip. "Where aesthetics often take priority over taste." Leaning over, he kissed her. "We'll get a pizza on the way home."

"Good idea. I should cruise around, see if I can find Mira, and if I can stir anything else up."

"I'll cruise with you." Roarke rose, pulled out her chair.

"Fine. It was a great show, Leonardo. I especially liked that green thing."

He beamed at her, then tugged her down to kiss her cheek. When she walked away, Eve heard Mavis giggle and tell Leonardo she needed a tornado to celebrate.

Tables with snowy cloths and silver candles were scattered throughout the ballroom. Six enormous chandeliers dripped out of the lofty ceiling to sprinkle muted and silver light. The wait staff moved around and through, pouring wine, removing dishes with an elegant choreography.

Generous drinks had loosened a few tongues, Eve observed. The level of sound was higher now, and the laughter louder.

Table hopping was a popular sport, and Eve noted as they wandered that most of the diners admired their food but didn't eat it.

"What was this thing, five, ten thousand a plate?" she asked Roarke.

"A bit more, actually."

"What a scam. There's Mira, heading out. Must be a pit stop because her husband's not with her. I'll go after her." She cocked her head at Roarke. "Why don't you play the crowd for me since they're loosening up some?"

"Love to. Then I want one dance, darling Eve, and Pepperoni on my pizza."

She gri

She headed directly to the bank of doors Mira had used, turned through the sumptuous foyer, and searched out the women's lounge.

Chandeliers twinkled light in the dressing area where a attendant droid in snappy black and white waited to assist or provide. The long rose-toned counter held more than a dozen individual lighted mirrors, a tidy and expansive array of decorative bottles filled with scents and creams. There were disposable brushes and combs, hair gels, sprays, and shines.

If madam had lost or forgotten her lip dye or any other enhancement, the droid would be more than happy to open the wall cabinet to provide the guest with a wide choice of the best brands in all the popular shades.

Mira sat at the end of the counter on a skirted chair. She'd switched on her mirror so the lights ringing it glowed, but she had yet to freshen her makeup.

She looked pale, Eve thought. Pale and unhappy. Feeling abruptly awkward and intrusive, she nearly backed out of the room again, but Mira caught the motion, turned, and smiled.

"Eve. I heard you were here."

"I saw you earlier." Eve walked down behind the row of chairs. "But then the fashion show started, and we got swallowed up."