Free Haunted in Death by J. D. Robb

with a few layers of paint to spare. “I’m going to write an order forbidding anyone within ten feet of me from saying Number Twelve in that – what is it – awed whisper.“
    “But you just gotta. Did you know there are all these books, and there are vids, based on Number Twelve, and Bobbie and the whole deal from back then? I did some research. McNab and I downloaded one of the vids last night. It was kind of hokey, but still. And we’re working the case. Maybe they’ll make a vid of that – you know, like they’re going to do one of the Icove case. Completely uptown. We’ll be famous, and – “
    Eve stopped at a light, turned her body slowly so she faced her partner. “You even breathe that thought, I’ll choke you until your eyes pop right out of their sockets, then plop into your open gasping mouth where you’ll swallow them whole. And choke to death on your own eyeballs.“
    “Well, jeez.“
    “Think about it, think carefully, before you breathe again.“
    Peabody hunched in her seat and kept her breathing to a minimum.
    When they found the shop closed and locked, they detoured to the home address on record.
    Maeve opened the door of the three-level brownstone. “Lieutenant, Detective.“
    “Closed down shop, Ms. Buchanan?“
    “For a day or two.“ She pushed at her hair. Eve watched the movement, the play of light on the striking red. “We were overrun yesterday, only about an hour after you left. Oh, come in, please. I’m a little flustered this morning.“
    “Overrun?“ Eve repeated as she stepped into a long, narrow hallway brightened by stained glass windows that let in the winter sun.
    “Customers, and most of them looking for bargains. Or wanting to gawk over the Bobbie Bray collection.“ Maeve, dressed in loose white pants, a soft white sweater and white half boots led the way through a wide doorway into a spacious parlor.
    Tidy, Eve thought, but not fussy. Antiques – she knew how to recognize the real thing, as Roarke had a penchant for them. Deep cushions in rich colors, old rugs, what looked to be old black-and-white photographs in pewter frames adorning the walls.
    No gel cushions, no mood screen, no entertainment unit in sight. Old-world stuff, Eve decided, very much like their place of business.
    “Please, have a seat. I’ve got tea or coffee.“
    “Don’t worry about it,“ Eve told her. “Your father’s here?“
    “Yes, up in the office. We’re working from here, at least for today. We’re buried in inquiries for our Bray collection, and we can handle those from home.“
    She moved around the room, turning on lamps with colored shades. “Normally, we’d love the walk-in traffic at the shop, but not when it’s a circus parade. With only the two of us, we just couldn’t handle it. We have a lot of easily lifted merchandise.“
    “How about letters?“
    “Letters?“
    “You carry that sort of thing? Letters, diaries, journals?“
    “We absolutely do. On Bobbie again?“ Maeve walked back to sit on the edge of a chair, crossed her legs. “We have what’s been authenticated as a letter she wrote to a friend she’d made in San Francisco – ah… 1968. Two notebooks containing original lyrics for songs she’d written. There may be more, but those spring to mind.“
    “How about letters to family, from her New York years?“
    “I don’t think so, but I can check the inventory. Or just ask my father,“ she added with a quick smile. “He’s got the entire inventory in his head, I swear. I don’t know how he does it.“
    “Maybe you could ask him if he could spare us a few minutes.“
    “Absolutely.“
    When she hesitated, Eve primed her. “Is there something else, something you remember?“
    “Actually, I’ve been sort of wrestling with this. I don’t think it makes any difference. I didn’t want to say anything in front of my father.“ She glanced toward the doorway, then tugged lightly – nervously, Eve thought – on one of the sparkling silver