She looked up as the door opened, and relief spilled out when a woman—trim, blond, in flannel pants and a sweatshirt—came in.
“Oh, Rachel.”
“Easy does it, Una.” She had a sharp, native New Yorker voice and a no-nonsense attitude as she walked over, sat next to her friend. She gave Una a pat on the knee. “Okay, what’s all this about murder?” She took a glance at the device in her hand, set it on the table. “My boy’s across the hall sleeping. I’ve got a monitor on him in case.”
“We’re investigating the murders of Nigel McEnroy and Thaddeus Pettigrew.”
“I heard there was a second one, but … Wait a minute. Pettigrew. That’s not Darla’s ex, is it?”
Una gripped Rachel’s hand, nodded.
“Well, shit.”
“Two members of your group,” Eve continued, “or former members, had a connection to the first victim.”
“Who?”
“Rachel, we can’t—”
“Una, honey, two murders. Cops gotta do their job. My husband was killed. Best man I ever knew. The cops did their job, and the one who took him away from me and our son’s in prison because they did.” She looked back at Eve. “Who?”
“Jasmine Quirk, Leah Lester.”
“Jasmine, Leah.” Rachel shut her eyes. “Let me think. Didn’t they come as a set, Una? I mean one brought the other in, if I remember right. It’s been awhile since they came around. I think one of them moved. They worked together, and the big boss raped them.”
“It’s their story, Rachel.”
“And they’ve already told me,” Eve put in. “You’re not disclosing anything I don’t know. Nigel McEnroy was the big boss.”
“Holy shit.” Rachel blew out a breath.
“Let’s get where you were out of the way. Last night,” Eve said, “and the night before. From nine P.M. to four A.M.”
“I’d have been going through the nightly battle of getting my boy in bed about nine, both nights. Once I won the war—I always win—I had my weekly marathon with my mom—she and my pop live in Florida now, so we blab on the ’link for an hour or so every week. Then I conked out watching some screen. Last night, same battle, same victory. Then I paid some bills, folded some laundry, and to reward myself, came over here with a bottle of wine, gabbed with Una for a while. I guess we broke up about eleven. We had work the next day.”
“Your data indicates you have professional mother status.”
“Yeah, I do, and I need it.” Direct in every way, Rachel pinned Eve with a hard look. “You can be a jerk about it and report me, but once a week Una and I clean the public areas of the building. We get a break on the rent that way. It’s under the table. I also get a little bit from Una for watching the adorable Sam. I don’t report either.”
“It sounds as if you’re an enterprising woman,” Roarke said, and earned a smile.
“I’m a widow with a growing boy. I have to be enterprising.”
“Why are you in the group?” Eve asked.
She heaved out a breath. “Gotta go there. Okay. I managed a small office, and gave that up after we had Jonah. Chaz and I both wanted to give him a full-time parent for the first couple years, and Chaz made a lot more than I did. I was starting to think about maybe easing a toe back into the workforce, just part-time, when that hy
ped-up junkie son of a bitch killed my husband.”
Now Una moved closer, slid an arm around Rachel. “So I stuck with professional mother status until Jonah started school. Then I took a job managing another small office—a father-son deal. Travel brokers—brokered luxury resorts and houses worldwide. Good hours, decent pay and benefits. I could walk Jonah to school, then go another couple of blocks and be at work. I had a friend who picked him up with her kid, took him home after school. Everything close by, so I’d swing by and get him around five, and be able to put dinner together, spend the evening with my kid. It was perfect.”
“Until?”
“The dad portion’s off for a few days, traveling to check out some new properties. The son portion locked the office. I didn’t see him do that, didn’t notice until he came at me. We were going to have some fun, that’s what he said. Let’s have some fun while he’s shoving me against the wall, grabbing my tits, trying to pull my clothes off. I’m going to admit that at first I was so shocked I just kept asking him to stop and trying to stop his hands. Then I got pissed, really pissed, and I kneed him in the balls just like my pop taught me. First time I had to use the move, but it worked.”
“Good for you,” Roarke said.
“Yeah, well, I went a little nuts after, yelling at him, threatening to sue or go to the cops, and he just started laughing. He told me to go ahead, how nobody would believe me. His father owned the place, and his father would believe him, and I’d be out on my ass without a reference. Shit like that. The guy’s rich, spoiled, good-looking, with a wife and a kid. He says how I’d be smart to just lie back and enjoy it because I’m fucked either way.