“Aren’t eaves the things on the sides of buildings? How do you drop them, and what does that have to do with listening in on other people’s conversations?”
He drew a blank, found himself intrigued. “I’ll be sure to look it up.”
“Language—which conversations are made of—doesn’t make any sense half the time.”
She keyed in with her master, opened the door.
To pitch-dark.
“Lights on, full,” she ordered.
They blasted on to reveal a spacious living area, carpeted in pale rose. Furnishings hit the sharp and edgy of I’m-trendy-now with a lot of chrome and glass, splashy modern art, a pair of long, low gel benches in lieu of sofas.
An entertainment screen dominated one wall, floor-to-ceiling floating shelves another. On the shelves dozens of photos of Mars looked out. In most, she posed with someone—the fact that Eve actually recognized some of the faces told her all if not most were celebrities or luminaries of some sort.
The windows that would look out on Park Avenue bore heavy drapes in the same tone as the carpet with the addition of fussy, feathery trim in a deeper hue.
“A building like this is going to have privacy screens on the windows. She not only adds those curtain things, but keeps them closed. For somebody who made a living poking holes in others’ privacy, she guarded her own.”
“She’d know just how easily the boundaries of privacy could be breached,” Roarke commented. “It’s a space for entertaining,” he continued as he wandered. “But certainly not for relaxing. It’s tasteful, in the way a high-end ultra-contemporary furniture showroom would be, but without warmth or personality. Still, she certainly knew how to invest her gain, ill-gotten or not.”
Eve scanned the room. “Where?”
“Well, take that painting there. That would be a Scarboro—an original. It would go for about two hundred.”
“Dollars?”
“Thousands thereof.”
“That?” Stunned, Eve walked closer, studied the splotches of crimson and orange over and around jagged lines of purple and blue. “Are you kidding me? Bella could do better.”
“Art’s what you make of it,” he said lightly. “Certainly not my particular taste,” he added as he moved to stand with her. “Though in my time I certainly…” He trailed off, amused at himself for momentarily forgetting her lapel recorder—currently engaged. “Ah, well, days gone by.”
She shot him a look, understanding perfectly that he’d stolen more than his share of paintings—splotchy and otherwise—in days gone by.
“Take any electronics you come across. I’ll take the bedroom.”
There were two, though one now served as an office with a large white workstation, a generous desk chair in leather nearly as pink as the skin suit in which its owner had died. Lots more photos, she noted, some shiny awards, and all manner of dust catchers.
Bowls, bottles, a collection of shiny glass eggs on little stands, fancy little boxes.
She’d leave the office to Roarke for now. Bedrooms, she thought, tended to serve as spaces people considered safe, private, off-limits. And often held the secrets.
She hadn’t skimped on the bed, Eve mused. The headboard, white, padded, rose nearly to the ceiling, curved in at the sides. Candy pink covered the bed, along with a mountain range of fancy, fussy pillows.
More jarring art—how did she sleep?—a gel bench at the foot of the bed, a mirrored chest with more colorful bottles arranged on it. A glance in the en suite showed her a long troth of a tub big enough for three good friends, a large glass shower with multi-jets, a long counter with double sinks shaped like full-blown roses and fed with waterfall faucets, a drying tube. A toilet and bidet stood discretely behind white sliding doors.
The wall-spanning mirror over the counter turned into a view screen by remote or voice command.
The ledge surrounding three sides of the tub held candles in clear glass bowls and a trio of slim, ornate pitchers.
Cabinets under the counter opened to drawers filled with beauty products and tools.
She’d come back to it.
For now she went back to the bed, opened the drawer on the bedside table. She took out two tablets, one full size, one mini. Swiped, found them both passcoded.
Deciding she’d let Roarke take a pass at them, she set them on the bed rather than bagging them, moved around to the far side of the bed.