Free Promises in Death by J. D. Robb

sit. “My family and I were very sorry, very sad, to hear about what happened.”
    “You knew Detective Coltraine.”
    “She was a good customer, a lovely lady. We’re all praying for her safe passage, and praying that her killer is brought to justice.”
    “Did she come in yesterday?”
    “I served her myself.” Mary nodded as the fresh pot of tea, the cups arrived. She poured from the squat white pot. “I thought back after we heard, in case it was important. It was early, before six. Maybe close to six. She told me she’d window-shopped on her way home, and tried on shoes she couldn’t afford. We joked a little about shoes. She didn’t know what she wanted to eat, and asked me to surprise her. Sometimes she did that. I gave her the moo-shu chicken—it was very good last night—and two spring rolls, because I knew she was fond of them.”
    “She came in alone?”
    “Yes. She said she wanted takeout as she’d be eating at home, alone, and doing some work. It was early, as I said, and we weren’t very busy yet. So we talked while the kitchen put her food together. I asked why she didn’t have a date. She told me she had to work, and her boyfriend was also working. Putting in extra time because they were going on a long weekend together soon. She seemed very happy. She took the order and paid, without even looking at what we’d given her. She said good-bye, and she would see me soon. I think she was only here for fifteen minutes. Not long. Not very long.”
    “Did she usually come in alone?”
    “Most always.” Mary lifted her teacup with her elegant hands. She wore a wide gold ring, and her nails were long, painted a glossy rich red. “Once or twice she came with the man she was seeing. She called him Li. They had love all around them. I hope you won’t tell me he’s the one who hurt her.”
    “No, he’s not the one who hurt her. Thank you, Mrs. Hon. You’ve been very helpful.”
    “I’ll miss seeing her.”
    “Sadder and sadder,” Peabody said when they were back on the sidewalk. “I guess you don’t think of how many people you brush up against, or how they might remember you. The guy at your corner deli, or the owner of your favorite take-out spot. The clerk where you usually shop for clothes. Not to sound too Free-Agey, but it matters. It all matters, what we leave behind with the people we brush up against.”
    “Someone she brushed up against wanted her dead. Let’s walk from here. Follow her steps.”
    Somewhere around six, Eve calculated, Amaryllis Coltraine walked this way, carrying take-out Chinese for one. Nice day, nicer than today when the sky couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to rain or just stay gloomy. Had she strolled, or had she picked up the New York pace and clipped right along?
    Strolled, Eve decided. What was the hurry? She wasn’t especially hungry, wouldn’t eat for an hour or so. By all appearances, she’d planned to spend the evening in, catching up on a little work.
    “Even if she took her time, less than five minutes to walk it.” Eve went in the front, as Coltraine would have, using her master where Coltraine would have used her key card. “Check her snail-mail drop.”
    Peabody used her master on the narrow box, as she had that morning. And as it had been that morning, the box was empty.
    “She’d take the stairs.”
    They walked past the elevators, cut to the right. They passed through the fire door, and Eve paused to study the layout again. Back door straight across, stairs going up and down to the right.
    “Which way was she going, out the front or the back? She didn’t have a ride, so was someone picking her up, or was she getting wherever she thought she was going on foot, subway, cab? They didn’t ambush her here. It doesn’t make sense, not if they were inside, to take her this close to the lobby fire door. Someone’s more likely to walk in from this level than any of the others.”
    “Maybe she went out the back, or started to. They