Marlo’s smile exploded. And no, Eve thought, she absolutely did not smile that way.
“That’s good then.”
“And this.” Eve did a turn around the office set. “I feel like I need to sit down and knock out some paperwork.”
“Carmandy would be thrilled to hear that. She’s the head set designer. Let’s get that coffee. They’ll need me back on set soon.”
Marlo gestured as they went out into the sun-blasted October of 2060. “If we go this way, you’ll see some of the Roarke/Dallas house set. It’s spectacular. Preston, our AD, told you they were going to want some publicity shots while you and Peabody are on set? Valerie Xaviar, that’s the publicist, is handling it. She’s on top of everything.”
“It was mentioned.”
Marlo smiled again, gave Eve’s arm a quick, light rub. “I know it’s not something you’d choose to do, but it’ll be great publicity for the vid—and it’ll make the cast and crew happy. You’re going to make the dinner tonight, I hope. You and Roarke.”
“We’re planning on it.” Couldn’t get out of it, Eve thought.
Marlo let out a laugh, shot Eve a look. “And you’re wishing you had a hot case so you could skip it.”
“I guess you are good at your work.”
“It’ll be more fun than you think. Which won’t be hard because you think it’ll be torture.”
“Have you got my office wired?”
“No, but I like to think I’m wired into you.” Marlo tapped her temple. “So I know you’ll enjoy yourself a lot more than you think. And you’ll love Julian. He’s nailed Roarke—the accent, the body language, that indefinable sense of power and sex. Plus, he’s gorgeous, funny, charming. I’ve loved working with him. Are you on an investigation now?”
“We just closed one a few days ago.”
“The Whitwood Center case, at least that’s what the media calls it. As I said, I’m steeped. Still, even when you’re not working something active, you’re supervising other investigations, testifying in court, consulting with the officers and detectives in your division. It’s a full plate. Dealing with—”
Marlo broke off when Eve’s communicator signaled.
“Dallas.”
Dispatch, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. See the officer at Twelve West Third. Possible homicide.
“Acknowledged. Dallas and Peabody, Detective Delia, en route.” She clicked off, signaled Peabody. “We caught one. Meet me at the vehicle.”
Pocketing the communicator, she glanced at Marlo. “Sorry.”
“No, of course. You caught a case, right when we’re standing here. It’s probably a stupid question, but how does it feel when you’re contacted, told someone’s dead?”
“Like it’s time to go to work. Listen, thanks for showing me around.”
“There’s so much more. Big Bang Productions basically built Dallas World here at Chelsea Piers. We’ll be shooting for at least two more weeks—probably three. Maybe you can make it back.”
“Maybe. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight, work permitting.”
“Good luck.”
Eve wound her way around to the VIP lot and her vehicle. She wasn’t happy somebody was dead—but if they were going to be dead anyway, she wasn’t unhappy to have picked up the case before the stupid photo shoot thing. She’d found Marlo Durn personable, maybe a little intense, but personable, smart, and not an asshole. But she had to admit it got to be a little unnerving to keep looking at somebody who looked so much like you. And to do it in surroundings that looked like your surroundings.
Dallas World.
Huh.
“Wouldn’t you know we’d catch one.” Peabody hustled up. “That was fun! And Preston—Preston Stykes, the assistant director—said I could do a cameo! They’re going to be shooting some street scenes next weekend, and I get to be a pedestrian—with a closeup, and maybe even a line. I bet I get a zit.” She patted a hand around her face, checking. “You always get a zit when you have a closeup.”
“Had many—closeups, not zits. I don’t want to know about your zits.”