Free Innocent in Death by J. D. Robb Page A

variety tin of Christmas cookies. My grandmother still makes them from scratch.”
    “I thought cookies were made of sugar.”
    “Scratchis from sugar—and flour and eggs and carob chips and butter. Mmmm, butter.” Peabody closed her eyes and dreamed of it. “Like from cows.”
    “Cows are a milk thing.” Eve waited while a herd of pedestrians tromped across the crosswalk. “And I don’t understand why anyone wants to drink something that comes out of a cow like, well, piss.”
    “You make butter from milk. If you’re talking real deal. Damn it, now I’m hungry. I can’t talk about cookies, my ass is expanding just from the conversation. I was talking about something. Oh, Now .”
    “It was now, it became then. Now it’s now all over again.”
    Brow knit, Peabody turned her head to look at Eve. “You’re trying to confuse me, and hey—nice job. You know I mean Nadine’s new show. You’re first up tomorrow for the premiere.”
    “And I’m trying not to think about it.”
    “It’s going to be mag. What are you wearing?”
    “I thought, just for a kick, I’d try clothes.”
    “Come on, Dallas, the show’s national and satellite and it’s getting megahype. Let Roarke pick out your outfit.”
    Eve’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits; she felt a snarl rising in her throat. “I know how to dress. I’ve been wearing clothes for years now.” She thought of Magdelana again, and the bold red dress with silver shoes. “I’m a cop, not some fashion whore. If he wanted someone who struts around on stilts wearing fancy dresses, he shouldn’t have married me.”
    “I don’t think your wardrobe was a big factor.” Cautiously, Peabody dipped a toe in dangerous waters. “Did you guys have a fight?”
    “Not exactly. But I think we’re due.” Eve punched it to swing around a sedan, then zipped onto a second-level street spot. “This is close enough.”
    “I’ll say.” Peabody got her wind back, then jogged down to the sidewalk behind Eve.
    The bitter cold drilled straight to the bone, and a whipping wind raced down the urban canyons. Eve shoved her ungloved hands into her pockets, and pushed her mind back to the job.
    “She’s got nothing to hide, she won’t have a problem with us looking around her place. Otherwise, we can get a warrant quick enough. We look for any sign of the poison, that includes the beans themselves, or any by-product. I want to go through his data and communications, any discs, and paperwork. I want to know what he kept in his top dresser drawer, hidden in his coat pockets. The works.”
    Peabody sighed with relief when they entered the building and shut out February’s blast. “If their place is like Kowoski’s, it won’t take long.”
    After the hike up the stairs, Eve knocked on the door. It was opened by a woman with tired eyes and glossy dreadlocks. “Can I help you?”
    “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody to see Lissette Foster.”
    “You’re the police investigating Craig’s death. I’m Cicely Bolviar, Lissy’s mother. Please come in. She’s in the bathroom.” Cicely sent a worried glance toward the closed bathroom door. “She’s taking a shower. She didn’t sleep last night. I’m going to make breakfast. She needs to eat something. I’m sorry.” She turned back to Eve and Peabody. “Please sit. Would you like coffee?”
    “Don’t trouble.”
    “It’s no trouble. I want to make her something. We’re meeting Craig’s family this afternoon to talk about…” Her lips quivered. “To talk about arrangements. I want to make her something to eat.”
    “When did you get to New York, Ms. Bolviar?”
    “Late last night. I came as soon as…when Lissy called to tell me, I came. She needs her maman now. He called me that, too. Maman .” She moved into the kitchen bump, then stood as if she didn’t know what to do next.
    “It was here she wanted to live, my Lissy, and because she had Craig, I didn’t worry. In a few years, he told me—they