"What is it about your body that's a constant fascination to me?" He feathered his fingers lightly over her breasts. "It's all so firm and soft all at once."
"You're stalling. And you never stall." She grabbed his wrists before he could finish the job of distracting her. "You did something. What did you ..." Realization struck, and her jaw dropped nearly to her toes. "Oh my God."
"I don't know how it happened, precisely. I really can't say how it came to be that Peabody's parents are even now tucked away in a guest room on the third floor. East wing."
"Here? They're going to stay here? You asked them to stay here? With us?"
"I'm not sure."
"What do you mean you're not sure? Did you ask them or not?"
"There's no point in getting into a snit." One must, he knew very well, switch to offense when defense was running thin. "You're the one who asked them to dinner, after all."
"To dinner," she hissed, as if they might hear her in the east wing. "A meal doesn't come with sleeping privileges. Roarke, they're Peabody's. What the hell are we going to do with them?"
"I don't know that either." Humor danced back in his eyes, and he sat and laughed. "I'm no easy mark. You know that. And I swear to you even now I'm not sure how she managed it, though manage it, she did, I'm showing them around after dinner as Phoebe wanted a bit of a tour. She's saying how nice it must be to have so many lovely rooms, and how comfortable and homey it all is despite all the size and space of it. And we're in the east wing, and she's wandering around one of the guest rooms and going to the window and saying what a wonderful view of the gardens. And look here, Sam, isn't this a beautiful view and so on. She misses her flowers, she tells me. And I say something about her being welcome to roam the garden here if she likes."
"How did you get from walking around the gardens to sleeping in the guest room?"
"She looked at me."
"And?"
"She looked at me," he repeated with a kind of baffled fascination, "and from there it's difficult to explain. She was saying how comforting it was to her and Sam to know their Delia had such good friends, generous souls and something of the like. And how much it meant to them to have this time to get to know those friends. Before I knew it I was arranging for their things to be fetched, and she was kissing me good night."
"Peabody said she has the power."
"I'm here to tell you, the woman has something. It's not that I mind. It's a big house, and I like both of them quite a lot. But, for Christ's sake, I usually know what I'm going to say before it comes spurting out of my mouth."
Amused now, she straddled him where he sat, hooked her arms behind his neck. "She put the whammy on you. I'm kind of sorry I missed it."
There, you see? You do love me."
"Probably."
She was grinning when she let him roll her into bed.
* * *
In the morning, Eve did a thirty-minute workout in the gym, and finished it off with laps in the pool. When she had the time, it was a routine that invariably cleared her mind and got her blood moving. By the time she pushed off for the tenth lap, she'd outlined her next steps in the Pettibone case.
Tracking Julianna Dunne was priority, and that meant digging through the old files, taking a hard look at patterns, associates, routines, and habits. It meant, in all probability, a trip to Dockport, to interview any inmates or guards Julianna had formed a relationship with.
Though if memory served, Julianna was very skilled at keeping herself to herself.
Next priority was motive. Who'd wanted Pettibone dead? Who'd benefited? His wife, his children. Possibly a business competitor.
A woman who looked like Bambi would have had other men in her life. That bore looking into. A former lover, jealousy. Or a long-term plan to hook the rich old guy, soak him, then eliminate him.
Then there was the ex-wife, who might have gained revenge and satisfaction in paying him back for dumping her.
Could be Pettibone wasn't the saint people were making him out to be. He might have known Julianna. He might have been one of her potential targets a decade ago, someone she'd seduced into an affair. Or she could have researched him while she was in prison, then played with him after her release.
That angle was high on her list, but it was too early to dismiss any possibility.
To know the killer, know the victim, she thought. This time she knew the killer, but to find the motive, she had to learn more about Pettibone. And reacquaint herself with Julianna Dunne.
At the end of twenty laps, feeling loose and limber, she slicked her hair back and stood in the shallows. As she started to hoist herself out, she caught a movement among the jungle of plants. Her head snapped up; her body braced.