She passed the coffee around, then a plate of thin golden cookies.
“You must have some questions you need to ask me. Couldn’t you interview me first, give her just a little more time to rest?”
“Tell me what you thought of Blair Bissel.”
“What I thought of him, before this morning?” Caro lifted her cup. It was a pretty floral pattern. “I liked him, because my daughter loved him. Because by all appearances he loved her. I never felt as much for him as I’d hoped to feel for my daughter’s choice of mate, which sounds . . . convenient under the circumstances, but doesn’t make it less true.”
“Why? Why didn’t you like him as much as you’d hoped to?”
“That’s a good question, and difficult to answer with specifics. I’d imagined when she married, that I’d love her husband, much as I might’ve loved a son. But I didn’t. I found him pleasant and amusing, considerate and intelligent. But . . . cool. On some inner level, cool and distant.”
She set her cup down again, without drinking. “It was my hope that I’d have grandchildren, when they were ready. And my secret hope, one I never shared with Reva, that when the grandchildren came I’d find that love for Blair.”
“And his work?”
“It’s necessary to be honest now, isn’t it?” There was, for just an instant, a twinkle in her eyes. “I could never be honest before. Preposterous, occasionally offensive, and very often unseemly. Art should often be surprising, and even unseemly, I suppose. But I’m more traditional in my tastes. He did very well, though.”
“Reva strikes me as an urbanite. What’s she doing in a house in Queens?”
“He wanted it. A big house, in his own style. I admit it broke my heart a little to have her move even that far away. We’ve always been very close. Her father hasn’t been part of our lives since she was twelve.”
“Why?”
“He preferred other women.” She said it without any trace of bitterness. Without, Eve noticed, any trace of anything. “It seems my daughter was attracted to the same kind of man.”
“She lived farther away from you at one time, during her time with the Secret Service.”
“Yes. She needed to spread her wings. I was very proud of her, and extremely relieved when she retired and moved back, went into R and D. Safe, I thought.” Caro’s lips trembled. “So much safer for my girl.”
“Did Reva ever talk about her work with you?”
“Hmm? Oh, from time to time. We were often involved, in our different ways, in the same projects.”
“Has she discussed with you the project she’s involved with now?”
Caro picked up her cup again, but Eve had seen the quick widening of her pupils. “I imagine Reva’s involved in a number of projects at the moment.”
“You know the one I’m talking about, Caro.”
This time there was a faint line of confusion between her eyebrows, and a quick glance at Roarke. “I’m not at liberty to discuss any of the projects in development through Roarke Industries. Even with you, Lieutenant.”
“It’s all right, Caro. The lieutenant is aware of the Code Red.”
“I see.” But it was clear to Eve that she didn’t. “I’m privy to certain details on any project with this level of sensitivity. As Roarke’s admin, I assist in meetings and review contracts, evaluate personnel. These are part of my duties. So yes, I’m aware of the project Reva’s heading.”
“And the two of you have discussed it.”
“Reva and I? No. We wouldn’t speak of this, any details of it. With Code Red, all data—verbal, electronic, holographic—all files, all notes, all intel remains top level. I’ve discussed this with no one, until now, but Roarke himself. In the office. This is global security, Lieutenant,” she said with brisk disapproval in her tone. “It isn’t coffee talk.”
“I’m not bringing it up to juice up the cookies.”
“They’re great cookies,” Peabody piped up, and earned a scowl from Eve. “I bet you get them from a bakery.”
Caro smiled a little. “Yes, I do.”
“We always had fresh cookies in the house when I was a kid. Now that we’re grown up, my mom still has them around. Habit,” Peabody said, and took another bite. “You probably always had them around when Reva was a kid.”
“I did.”