The In Death Collection: Books 26-29 by J.D. Robb Page B

same.”
    â€œThanks.” She grabbed her coat, scarf, hat. “I—”
    â€œPeabody! Move your damn ass!”
    â€œGotta go,” Peabody finished on the heels of Eve’s shout. And fled.
    With his fresh cup of coffee, Roarke sat behind Eve’s desk. He could spare twenty minutes now, he mused. “So, let’s see what we have here.”

6
    AN ELEGANT, OLD, LOVINGLY RESTORED BUILDING on the Upper East Side housed the Plowder’s apartment. The quiet, rosy brick boasted a portico entrance with wide, beveled glass doors granting passersby a peek at the polished marble lobby. A doorman, in blue and silver livery, stood guard should any of those passersby need a little move-along.
    Eve noted he gave her police issue the beady eye when she pulled up to park at the carpeted curb. She didn’t mind a bit. She didn’t just eat bagels for breakfast, but enjoyed a good bite of doorman.
    He strode across the swatch of red carpet, shook his head.
    â€œCop rides never get any prettier,” he commented. “What house are you out of?”
    She shifted her feet, and her prepared tone. “You on the job?”
    â€œWas. Put in my papers after I did my thirty. My brother-in-law manages the place.” He jerked his head toward the entrance. “Tried golf, tried fishing, tried driving the wife crazy.” He flashed a smile. “Better pay, better hours on this door than doing the security guard thing. Dallas,” he said, shooting a finger at her. “Lieutenant Eve.”
    â€œYeah, that’s right.”
    â€œShoulda made you sooner. Getting rusty, I guess. I didn’t hear about anybody getting murdered inside.”
    â€œNot yet.” They exchanged quick cop grins. “Your tenants the Plowders have a guest I need to speak with. Ava Anders.”
    â€œHmm. Husband got dead yesterday. Didn’t know she was upstairs. She must’ve come in after I went off. She and the dead husband came around now and then. Her more than him, but he was friendlier.”
    â€œWas Mrs. Anders unfriendly?”
    â€œNo. Just one of the type who don’t notice who opens the door for her ’cause she expects somebody to. On the snooty side, but not bitchy or anything. Him, he’d usually stop a minute going in or out, have a word, maybe ask if you caught the game—whatever the game was. Sorry to hear he got dead. I gotta call up. Worth my job if I don’t.”
    â€œThat’s no problem. What was your house?” Eve asked as they moved to the doors.
    â€œDid my last ten at the one-two-eight. Cold Case Unit.”
    â€œThat’s a tough hitch. The cold ones can haunt you.”
    â€œYeah, they can.” He pulled off his glove to offer a hand. “Frank O’Malley, formerly Detective.”
    â€œNice to meet you, Detective.”
    â€œPeabody, Detective Delia,” Peabody said when they shook. “I knew a uniform in the one-two-eight back when I was on patrol. Hannison?”
    â€œSure, I knew Hannison. He’s all right.”
    Inside the lobby with its subtly fragrant air, Frank turned to an intercom screen. “Plowder penthouse,” he ordered, then waited until the screen shifted from waiting blue and the image of a woman with short brown hair swam on. “Morning, Agnes.”
    â€œFrank.”
    â€œI got a Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody in the lobby. They’d like to speak to Mrs. Anders.”
    â€œI see. Hold a moment, Frank.”
    â€œThat was Mrs. Plowder’s personal assistant, Agnes Morelli. She’s okay.”
    â€œHow about the Plowders?”
    â€œSeem like solid types to me. Not on the snooty side. Call you by name, ask after the family they got time for it. Don’t skimp on the tips.”
    A moment later, Agnes flowed back on screen. “You can send them right up, Frank, lower parlor entrance.”
    â€œWill do. Thanks, Agnes. First elevator,” he told