In Death 26 - Strangers in Death by authors_sort Page A

cooler the trail. The trail goes cold, the killer can walk. When killers walk, it pisses me off. If you want to blame somebody for me being here, blame the killer. Now, the more time you stand there complaining, the more time we’re going to be here.”
    Brigit’s chin jutted out, then angled as she inclined her head. “You’re absolutely right. I don’t like it, don’t like any of it, but you’re absolutely right. Come on, Ava, let’s sit down now. I’ll apologize, Lieutenant, Detective,” she continued as she led Ava to a thickly cushioned sofa in deep blue. “I’m rarely rude to guests in my home, even uninvited guests. I’m not altogether myself today. None of us are. Please, sit down.”
    As Eve and Peabody took wide-armed chairs, Agnes rolled in a tray. “I’ve got chamomile tea for you, Ava. You’ll do better with that than coffee.”
    “Thank you, Agnes.” Ava took the cup, stared into it.
    “I’ll see she drinks it this time,” Brigit stated.
    “Thanks.” Eve accepted the coffee Agnes offered. “Since you’re here, Mrs. Plowder, can you tell me when you and Mrs. Anders made your travel plans?”
    “Travel? Oh. That seems like years ago already. We go away every year. Ava, Sasha—Sasha Bride-West—and myself. A week somewhere warm, a restorative at the end of winter.”
    “This particular restorative. When did you make the plans? The dates, the destination.”
    “Oh…Three months ago. About?” she added, turning to Agnes.
    “Nearly four, actually. I booked the arrangements in November, just before Thanksgiving.”
    “Agnes knows all, remembers all,” Brigit said, and Eve saw she’d been right. The smile was charming.
    “We had such a lovely day.” Ava’s voice dripped like tears. “Such a lovely day on Monday. Breakfast on the terrace. Mimosas. We had mimosas, and we got just a little drunk. At breakfast, remember, Bridge?”
    “Yes, honey, I remember.”
    “We laughed like idiots. Everything was so funny. And later, when I called Tommy later, I cut it all so short. We were going to have massages on the terrace, where we’d gotten a little bit drunk at breakfast. So I cut it all very short. ‘I’ll talk to you later, Tommy,’ that’s what I said to him. ‘I’ll talk to you later. I want my massage.’ That’s the last thing I said to him, because there wasn’t any later.”
    “Sweetheart.” Brigit brushed her fingers over Ava’s cheek. “Don’t do this.”
    “I don’t know about trails going cold; I just know Tommy’s dead. I saw him myself when Ben took me to him. I saw Tommy dead.”
    “Mrs. Anders.” Peabody shifted forward. “This is a terrible time for you. We’re here to help. You’ve lost your husband. Don’t you want to know why? Don’t you want to know who?”
    “I don’t know.” Ava lifted her gaze, aimed those wet blue eyes at Peabody. “I should. I know I should. But he’ll still be gone.”
    “He’d want you to know,” Peabody said. “He’d want us to find those answers.”
    “I don’t know them. How could I?”
    “You knew him best. You were his wife. There are things you know, things you may not realize are important, are relevant. That’s why we’re here. We will know.”
    “Your husband’s date book,” Eve began. “Did he make the entries himself?”
    “His date book? Yes.”
    “And the autosystem in the bedroom, the wake-up program and so on. Would he have programmed that personally?”
    “Yes.” Ava straightened in her seat. “He enjoyed that, hearing his first appointment of the day, being reminded of what he’d ordered for breakfast.”
    “The two of you must have gotten up at the same time routinely.”
    “Oh, if he had an early appointment, and I didn’t, I’d wear earplugs. And have Greta wake me.”
    “Do you take sleep aids?”
    “Oh, occasionally.” She waved a hand. “Now and then.”
    “Did he?”
    “Now and then. Everyone does, don’t they?”
    “He had very specific routines. The bedroom