Innocent in Death by Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb

Author:Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Fiction:Detective
ISBN: 9780749938079
Publisher: Piatkus Books
Published: 2007-09-30T20:43:44+00:00

13

WHEN ALLIKA REVIVED, SHE CAREENED DIRECTLY into hysteria. The sobbing, the shaking, the wild eyes could have been guilt, a good act, or shock. Eve decided to reserve judgment when the au pair rushed in, carting market bags.

“What is it? What’s happened. Oh, God, is it Rayleen?”

“Kid’s fine.” Eve waited while Cora dumped the bags on the floor and hurried to Allika’s side. “Calm her down. Tranq her if you have to. We’ll finish the interview later.”

“Mr. Straffo?”

“He’s fine, too, as far as I know. Calm her down, then come back. I’ve got a couple of questions for you.”

“All right then, shh, shh, darling.” In the way of women who are natural caregivers, Cora tuned a voice to a soft song. “Come on with Cora now, won’t you? Everything’s going to be all right.”

“It’s all falling apart,” Allika sobbed as Cora drew her up. “He’s dead. My God, he’s dead.”

Cora’s gaze zipped to Eve’s. “Another teacher,” Eve told her.

“Oh, sweet Jesus. Yes, sweetheart, come and lie down awhile.”

Cora led her toward the elevator rather than the staircase. She had her arm around Allika when the doors closed, bearing the other woman’s weight as though she weighed no more than a child.

“Contact Mosebly, Peabody,” Eve said with her eyes trained on the second floor. “I want her to come down to Central. Make it pleasant, apologetic. You know how to play it.”

“Just a few more questions, better for everyone if we talk away from the school. Got it.”

As Peabody got out her pocket ’link, Eve walked casually up the stairs. Just checking on a possible wit, possible suspect, she thought. Perfectly understandable, perfectly acceptable. Perfectly legal.

And if she took her time, looking into the other rooms from their doorways, it wasn’t a violation.

She scanned what she assumed was Straffo’s home office. Spacious, slick, touches of pricey chocolate-brown leather. Good view, with privacy screens engaged. Small sofa, not what a guy would stretch out on for a nap. All business, then.

Across from it was what she supposed would be called Allika’s sitting room. There was a small desk with dramatically curved legs, a matching chair. Pastels, she noted. Pinks and greens and a pretty little fireplace. On the mantel were framed photos. She could see several of the kid, the family, one of husband and wife—younger, softer—beaming out. But there was no photo of a little boy.

The doomed son.

Privacy screens again, but with soft green drapes flanking them. A little footstool, a fancy tea set, flowers.

In the room beyond that was what looked like a playroom. Kiddie domain, Eve thought. Toys, a scaled-down desk, lots of bright colors, so heavy on the candy pink it made Eve’s teeth ache.

The kid rated her own comp, Eve noted, her own screen and entertainment center, her own tea set, with table and chairs. The desk area had been fashioned like an office—for the school generation. Disc files, art supplies, which had likely been used to create some of the pictures on the wall.

The room adjoined, Eve saw through an open door, a large cushy bedroom.

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