Page 4 of Framed in Death (In Death #61)

“The rook talked them into going back to the kitchen, having coffee. Once he sat down back there with them, it toned the decibels down a lot. I’ll show you.

You’ve got the mother—mid-forties and I’ll say starchy.

The father, late forties, more wilted at this point.

Younger brother, smart-mouthed. And the witness, defiant, teary.

Can’t decide, you ask me, whether to bitch at her parents or crawl into their laps. ”

As he spoke, Eve took in the house. Shiny, clean, contemporary style, and one that said money was plentiful. Spacious living area, a pair of home offices, a kind of den.

Art everywhere: paintings, sculptures, photographs, etchings.

It all opened up to a large white-on-white-and-silver kitchen where the family and the rookie sat at a generous breakfast area.

The rookie rose, and he was very good-looking, with creamy brown skin, large dark eyes, a pair of perfect dimples that winked on as he smiled.

“Whittier family—Opal, Roger, Fiona, and Trent,” Officer LaValle announced, “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody. Officer Freemont, we’ll be on our way.”

The girl groped for Freemont’s hand. “Oh, but… Do you have to go?”

“I do. Everything’s going to be fine, Fiona. You just tell the lieutenant and the detective what happened. They’re here to help.”

“The Clone Cops.” The boy, his gold-streaked brown hair tousled from sleep, his grin wide, and his cat-green eyes avid, rubbed his hands together. “Now, this is XL to the frosty.”

“Cram it, Trent.” On a tear-soaked snarl, Fiona sent him a vicious look only a sibling could manage. “There’s a dead woman outside my rooms, okay? How am I ever going to sleep there again?”

“You can swap rooms with me anytime.” He added a cat smile to the cat’s eyes. “You’re grounded for the rest of your life anyhow.”

“Why don’t you fuck off and die?”

While the brother went Oooooh at that, both parents got into the mix. LaValle would’ve said the decibels rose again.

And lifting both hands for peace, Peabody stepped forward. “Everyone, please stop. This isn’t helping. Why don’t we all take a minute, take a breath?”

They rolled right over her, so Eve stepped forward.

“Quiet!” Her voice whip-snapped through the melee. “All of you, shut up, and now. Otherwise, we’ll take Fiona down to Central and interview her there.”

“Mom! I don’t want to go to—”

“Then be quiet,” Eve suggested.

Fiona snapped her mouth shut as her brother snickered.

“That goes for you, too. You want to stay, knock it off. Otherwise we can give Child Services a tag and take you down for interfering with a police investigation.”

He rolled his eyes at her, but subsided.

“I don’t appreciate you speaking to our children in that manner,” Opal Whittier began.

“Maybe weigh what you appreciate less: me keeping your kids under control or the dead woman outside your house. The sooner we get to the second of those choices, the sooner you can go back to the family drama.”

“This is a very difficult time.” Roger Whittier rubbed his tired eyes. “It’s all shocking, and it’s very stressful for all of us.”

“I’m sure it is.” Peabody went back to smoothing and soothing. “We need to ask questions, and when we’re done, we’ll leave you alone. I’m sure all of you want some time to regroup after this shock.”

“You’re right, of course, you’re right. Opal.” Roger reached for his wife’s hand.

“Yes, yes.” Most of the angry color drained out of her cheeks. “My head’s still reeling. What if that murderer had still been there when Fiona got home? What if he’d broken in while she was alone in bed, or—”

“None of that happened,” Eve said. “Let’s deal with what did.”

“Yes, let’s please do that.”

The family shifted to sit on the back of the banquette. Peabody and Eve sat on the ends.

“I’m going to show you a photo, and ask if you recognize this person.”

Eve pulled up the victim’s ID shot, and had the family pass her ’link around starting with Roger.

“No. Opal?”

She shook her head.

Trent took a long look. “Nope, but she’s pretty steamy.”

“I think, maybe, it’s the woman.” Fiona’s chin wobbled. “The dead woman, but she looks different.”

“Have you seen her before tonight?”

“No. I swear.” Tears began to leak. “At first I thought she was a sidewalk sleeper with weird clothes on. Or maybe somebody who got drunk at like a costume party or something and just passed out there. I even yelled at her to get up, and she didn’t move at all.

But then I got closer, and I could see she…

The way she was staring, and how she didn’t move. She didn’t move.”

“What time was that?”

“It was around five-thirty, I guess. Maybe a little later. A little later, I guess. There was a rave, and I really wanted to go. I’m almost eighteen!”

“Not for another eleven months,” Opal said, sharp as a blade. “We trusted you, Fiona.”

More tears leaked. “Pats and Haven and Rush and Zoe all went.”

“And we’ll see if their parents knew about that.”

“You can’t narc on them!”

“Oh.” This time her father spoke up. “Watch us.”

“Let’s get into that later.” Eve held up a hand before the situation devolved again. “Did you see anyone, hear anything when you got home? Someone on the street, near the house.”

“I didn’t, and I was really careful. Until I found her.

I think I screamed when I realized… When I realized she was dead, I think I screamed.

And I just ran back up the steps, then to the front door.

I just started banging and yelling for Mom and Dad.

I didn’t even think at first that I had my swipe, the passcode. I was just scared.”

“We couldn’t understand her at first.” Opal spoke, calmer now. “She wasn’t making sense, and of course, she was fully dressed. We realized she’d been out, and we were angry. Then she’s shouting about a dead woman, and we were terrified she’d been in an accident.”

“She was totally whacked,” Trent put in, then shrugged at his sister’s hard look. “I’d probably be totally whacked if I found a dead body. I was going to go out and see what the what, but Dad wouldn’t let me.”

“I went out myself. I was sure I’d find someone had tossed some old clothes or garbage down there, but…” Roger closed his eyes. “I saw her.”

“Did you touch anything? Either of you.”

“I—I started to shake her shoulder, but then I realized.” Fiona sucked in a sob. “Her eyes. They were open and staring. I yelled at her, like I said, when I first saw her, and she didn’t move.”

“I didn’t go all the way down,” Roger continued. “I took a flashlight, and as I started down—thinking, like Fiona at first, she was sleeping or passed out—I could see.”

“He came back in, and we called the police,” Opal finished.

“You have a lot of art,” Eve commented.

“Opal’s an artist,” Roger told her, with pride.

Opal waved that away. “I like to think so, but I’m more a patron. Roger and I own the Charles Street Gallery in the Village, and an attached art supply store with a studio space above.”

“Studio.”

“Yes. We bring in an artist whose work we’re featuring to teach and guide students. Once a week for a month, then another artist, perhaps another medium.”

“Peabody, the painting.”

Peabody took out her PPC, pulled it up. “Do you recognize this.”

Opal glanced at the screen. “Of course. Girl with a Pearl Earring .”

“Wait.” Fiona snatched at the PPC. “That’s what she’s wearing! That’s how she looks!”

“What are you talking about?”

“She’s right.” Eve drew Opal’s attention back to her. “The victim was dressed and posed to replicate this painting. Does it have any specific meaning for you?”

“What? No. I mean, of course it’s a magnificent portrait, but I don’t understand. Why would anyone… It’s just sick, and horrible. Why would anyone do that, and leave her here, on our doorstep?”

“Maybe you pissed somebody off.”

“Trent!”

“Did you?” Eve countered. “An employee, an artist, a neighbor?”

“Certainly not! Not in any way that would drive someone to do this.”

“Do you teach this kind of art? What would it be, classical?”

“The featured artist selects the style and medium. I myself teach once or twice a year, depending. But I focus on still lifes and watercolor. The Vermeer’s an oil painting. I’m a watercolorist.”

“We’d like the names and contacts of those featured artists for the last year, and the same from employees. What about artists you turn down?”

“I—” Opal looked helplessly at her husband.

“Opal and I co-manage the gallery and the shop. I’m going to say for every artist whose work we accept, there are easily half a dozen we feel don’t meet our standards or needs.”

“Everybody thinks they’re the next Matisse or whoever,” Trent commented. “But mostly?” Face mockingly stern, he did an exaggerated thumbs-down.

For the first time Opal smiled. “Rude, but not wrong. Why would anyone murder that poor young woman because I made them angry?”

“It could be they chose your location because it just worked. The quiet street, the below-street-level area. But we’ll look at every possibility.”

“Clone Cops. It was a pretty mag vid” was Trent’s opinion. “I heard they’re going to make another one about when people started going crazy and slicing and dicing each other.”

He slid a glance toward his parents. “Mom and Dad freaked, so Fi and I were on house arrest for like a week because of all that. But like I told them, I don’t need some weird-ass virus or whatever to want to slice and dice Fiona.”

His sister sneered, but this time with a touch of amusement in her eyes. “Yeah? Smothering you in your sleep’s my lifelong dream.”

Before the parents could speak, Eve rose.

“Well, if you end up sliced and diced, or you end up smothered in your sleep, we’ll know who to arrest. That cuts down on legwork.”

That brought a delighted cackle from the boy, and a half smile from his sister.