“Earnestine?”
“Yes, Marsha’s already seeing to refreshments. Should I finish upstairs?”
“I need you to stay.” Eve struggled not to snap. “I’m sorry to be abrupt, Ms. Berkle, but—”
“Natalia, please. I’m sure this is all part of the official police business. And here’s Dru. Dru, join us. I think we’re about to be interrogated.”
She looked like her mother—a younger version in stylish street clothes. And, like her mother, she walked to Roarke as he rose, kissed his cheeks. “So nice to see you again. And to meet you, Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. Mother and I both read Nadine Furst’s book, and saw the vid. We’re very big fans.”
“We’re not here to interrogate you, but we do have some questions. About Ann Smith.”
“Ann? Oh, thank you, Marsha,” Berkle said as a woman in a black dress wheeled out a cart. “That lovely Cab for the gentleman, Dru, and myself—after all, it’s from the gentleman’s vineyard. And coffee for the ladies.”
“That’s black for you, Lieutenant Dallas?” Dru asked. “And cream and sugar for you, Detective?”
“Thanks. Ann Smith,” Eve repeated. “I need her contact information.”
“Certainly. Earnestine can get that for you.” Berkle fluttered a hand at her assistant. “Ann’s a genius with a needle—sewing needle. I’ve used her quite a lot in the past … I suppose it’s over a year now. She worked at Dobb’s in Brooklyn, but went out on her own. I hope she’s not in trouble.”
“We have evidence making Ann Elizabeth Smith the prime suspect in three murders.”
“Murders? Good God.”
“Ann?” Dru lowered her wineglass. “We couldn’t be talking about the same Ann Smith. She’s the sort who’d run away from a fly if one landed on her.”
“Still waters, sweetheart.” Berkle patted her daughter’s hand. “She’s, as I said, a genius in tailoring. Very short on conversation and social skills. Not awkward so much as … closed,” Berkle decided. “Exceedingly polite, but more like a droid who’s been programmed than genuine, if you understand me. I can’t say I sensed any violence in her—discontent, yes, but not violence. She’s been in my home many times.”
“We believe you may be her next target.”
“Me?” Berkle’s eyebrows winged up, and a faint flicker of alarm rippled across her face. But her voice, and the hand that lifted the wine to her lips, stayed steady. “Whatever for? We’ve never had a cross word between us.”
“You fit the profile for her next victim. A wealthy widow with a son and a daughter.”
As quickly as possible, Eve hit the salient points. The books, Smith’s obsession, the sightings and stalkings, while Earnestine gave Peabody Smith’s contact number.
Berkle watched Eve calmly.
“This particular book—and, Earnestine, let’s get those, I want to read this series—has me representing a woman killed by her son, who then attempts to frame his sister. He pushes me down the stairs?”
“Yes.”
“I should be safe in that case, as I have no intention of letting her back in my home. Added to that, my son left with his family this morning for our estate on Kauai. I, along with Dru and her family, leave in the morning. For two and a half weeks.”
“Who knows your plans?”
“A number of people, including Ann, as she recently delivered some of my vacation wardrobe.”
“She could be waiting until you get back,” Peabody pointed out, but Eve shook her head.
“No, she has to move quickly. She can’t wait that long now. She had contingencies with Loxie Flash. She’ll have one here, too. Regardless, Ms. Berkle—”
“Natalia,” she said again. “We’re compatriots at this point.”
“Regardless, you need to take precautions. If Smith attempts to access your home before you leave—”
“She wouldn’t get past the lobby. You can be assured I’ll notify building security. And I won’t open that door.” The fat diamond on her finger winked light as she lifted her wine. “I like my life.”
“Are you staying here tonight?” Eve asked Dru.