Strangers In Death

“Best you can do is throw me a bone?” He honked again. “I’ll take it.”

“It’s a big bone, Feeney, and I need somebody to dig out the meat.”

“All right. You tell the wife.”

“What? Wait!”

“You convince her you need me on this. Make it life and death.”

“No! Feeney, don’t-”

“Sheila!” He honked the name out, and in the lingering chill of March, Eve’s hands went damp with sweat.

What people did for friendship, Eve thought, as she paid off the cab. Now she was responsible, according to Mrs. Feeney, if the work set back his recovery. Should’ve left him hacking up a lung at his desk in the first place, she told herself as she buzzed Greta Horowitz’s apartment from street level.

She angled toward the view screen.

“Lieutenant Dallas?”

“Yes. Can I come up?”

“I’ll open the locks.”

The doors beeped clear, opened smoothly. Inside, the entryway was small, and absolutely pristine. Eve imagined Greta would tolerate no less. The elevator hummed cooperatively to the fourth floor where Greta stood in the doorway of her unit.

“Has something happened?”

“Just some follow-up questions.”

“Oh. I was hoping you’d found who killed Mr. Anders. Please come in.”

The apartment was as unpretentious and efficient as its occupant. Sturdy furniture, no frills, a scent of…clean, was the only way Eve could describe it.

“Can I get you something hot to drink?”

“No, thanks. If we could sit down for a few minutes.”

“Please.” Greta sat, planted her shoes on the floor and her knees together. Smoothed down the skirt of her dignified black suit.

“You’re attending the memorial,” Eve began.

“Yes. It’s a very sad day. After, I’ll go to Mrs. Plowder’s, to help with the bereavement supper. Tomorrow…” She let out a little sigh. “Tomorrow, I am back to work. I will prepare the house so Mrs. Anders can return home.”

“Prepare it?”

“It must be freshened, of course, and some marketing must be done. The bed linens…you understand.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll supervise having Mr. Anders’s clothes packed.”

Don’t waste time, do you, Ava? “Packed?”

“Mrs. Anders feels it will distress her to see them. She prefers they be removed before her return, and donated, of course, to charity.”

“Of course. Mrs. Horowitz, how long did it take you to put away, give away, your husband’s clothes?”

“I still have his dress uniform.” She glanced over, and following, Eve saw the framed photo of the soldier Greta had loved. “People grieve in their own way.”

“Mrs. Horowitz, you strike me as the sort of woman who not only knows her job, but does it very well. Who not only meets her employers’ needs, but would anticipate them. To anticipate, you’d have to understand them.”

“I take pride in my work. I will be glad to get back to it. I dislike being idle.”

“Did you anticipate Mrs. Anders instructing you to pack away her husband’s clothes?”

“No. No,” she said again, more carefully. “But I was not surprised by the instructions. Mrs. Anders isn’t sentimental.”

“I doubt anyone would describe either of us that way, either. As sentimental. If I lost my husband…I’d need his things around me. I’d need to touch them, to smell them, to have them. I’d need those tangible pieces of him to get me through the pain, the shock, the sadness. You understand me?”

Gaze level on Eve’s, Greta nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“Would you have been surprised, if the situation were reversed, and Mr. Anders instructed you to pack up his wife’s clothing?”

“Very. I would have been very surprised.”

“Mrs. Horowitz, I haven’t turned on my recorder. I’m just asking you for your opinions. Your opinions are very helpful to me. Did she love him?”

“I managed their house, Lieutenant, not their marriage.”

“Greta,” Eve said in a tone that had Greta sighing again.

“It’s a difficult position. I believe honesty and cooperation with the police is an essential matter. And I believe loyalty to and discretion about an employer is not a choice, it’s duty. You would understand duty, Lieutenant.”

“Mr. Anders was your employer, too. Yes, I understand duty. We both have a duty to Thomas Anders.”

“Yes.” Greta looked at her husband’s photograph again. “Yes, we do. You asked me before about their relationship, and I told you the truth. Perhaps not all shades of the truth, perhaps not my feelings on that truth.”

“Will you tell me now?”

“Will you tell me first if you believe Mrs. Anders had anything to do with her husband’s murder?”

“I do believe it.”

Greta closed her eyes. “I had that terrible thought, not when I found him that morning, you understand. Not then. Not even that night, or the next morning. But…with so much time on my hands, so much time to think instead of work, I began to have those thoughts. Those terrible thoughts. To wonder.”

“Why?”

“There was affection, gestures-on both sides. An indulgence on both sides. You would see this and think they are nicely married. Comfortably married, you understand?”

“Yes, I do.”

“If she encouraged him to go out, play his golf, or attend his games, how could you fault her? If she encouraged him to take his trips, even to extend them, it would be natural enough. Women come to prize their solitude, especially when they’re long married. A little time without the man underfoot.”

“The reasonable, loving, indulgent wife.”

“Yes. Yes, exactly what it would seem. But, in fact, she was happier when he was gone than she was when he was home, and the longer he was gone, the happier she would be. This is my opinion,” Greta hastened to add. “My sense only.”

“That’s what I’m after.”

“I would sense an a

Greta paused, pressed her fingers to her lips for a moment, then folded her hands neatly in her lap again. “I might not be saying this to you if she hadn’t instructed me to clear his clothes out of his dressing room, as she might instruct me to see that the floors were polished. Just another household task. I might not be telling you this if I didn’t know she saw the disapproval I didn’t hide quickly enough. And seeing it, Lieutenant, her ma

Greta looked down at the hands folded in her lap, nodded. “It was then, Lieutenant, I decided I would begin to look for other employment. Only this morning, I contacted an agency for this purpose.”

“She miscalculated with you, Greta. Will you be able to go to the memorial, to the Plowders, to go back to work, for the time being, without letting her see what you think or feel?”

The faintest smile touched Greta’s mouth. “I’m a domestic, Lieutenant. I’m very skilled at keeping my thoughts and feelings to myself.”

“I appreciate you sharing them with me.” Eve rose, held out a hand.

Getting to her feet, Greta took it, then held it. And held Eve’s eyes. “We may be unfair to Mrs. Anders. But if we aren’t, I trust you, Lieutenant, to make justice for Mrs. Anders.”

“I’m good at my job, too.”

“Yes, I believe you are.”

Rather than cab it all the way back to Roarke’s office, Eve flipped out her ’link as she hit the street again. The transmission bounced straight to his admin. “Hey, Caro, could-”