J. Robb - Portrait In Death

"We'll just have wet heat. Fucking August." But she said it absently, almost affectionately. "He's here, Peabody, but where's his bolt-hole? Someplace nice and safe, where everything's tidy, everything's in its place.

"Pictures," she muttered, staring through the rain-washed window into the gloom. "Images tacked up all over the walls. He needs to see his work. Judge it, admire it, critique it. His work is his life. His work is life."

"Matted and framed."

"What?"

"Not tacked up," Peabody said. "Matted and framed. He'd want the best of it well presented, right?"

With a considering frown, Eve turned her head. "Good. That's damn good. Matted and framed. Where does he get the material? Local? Online? He'd want good stuff, wouldn't he? The best he could afford. Lots of frames. Probably unified. He's got a specific style, so he'd want them framed in a specific style. Get me the top ten outlets in the city to start."

"Yes, sir. Where are we going?" she asked as Eve pulled away from the curb.

"Home office. Better equipment."

"Woo-hoo. Sorry." But Peabody didn't bother to suppress the grin. "Better food, too. Jesus." She jumped when lightning lashed through the sky. "Serious stuff. Did you ever hide under the covers during a storm when you were a kid and count the seconds between the flash and boom?"

She'd been lucky if she'dhad covers as a kid, Eve thought. And storms weren't the scary part of her life. "No."

"We did. I still do sometimes-habit. Like…" She watched the next flash and began to count out loud. "One, two, three. Pow." She gave a quick shudder at the boom. "Pretty close."

"If you hear it, it's not close enough to worry about. Outlets, Peabody."

"Sorry, coming up. I got three uptown, one midtown, two in Soho, one Tribeca-"

"Cull it to ones near the parking port or the universities. Five-block radius." While Peabody worked, Eve followed the next hunch and called Portography. "Give me Hastings."

"He's in session," Lucia said primly, and with a dislike not quite veiled. "I'd be happy to take a message."

"He gets out of session, or I come in and pull him out of session. Choose."

Lucia scowled, but switched the 'link to Hold where Eve was treated to shifting images of Hastings's work and a musical accompaniment. He came on looking sweaty and red-faced.

"What? What? Do I have to murder you in your sleep?"

"Dumbass thing to say to a cop, pal. Where do you get your frames?"

"What? What?"

"Stop saying that. Frames? Where do you get the frames for your photographs. Your personal work?"

"How the hell do I know? Freaking hell. Don't we carry them downstairs? Lucia! Don't we carry fricking frames downstairs?"

"You know, Hastings, I'm starting to like you. Do you use the fricking frames you carry downstairs for your work in the gallery?"

"I don't know. I don't know." If he'd had hair, Eve was sure he'd have been pulling it out. "If I find out, will you leave me the hell alone?"

"I might."

"I'll get back to you," he snapped, and rudely shut off.

"Yeah, I like him."

She was driving through the gates when he buzzed her back.

"We got all kinds of fricking frames. We're lousy with them. We don't carry what I use because, Lucia tells me, then everybody'd use them and they'd no longer be unique or some happy horseshit. I get them from goddamn Helsinki."

"Helsinki," Eve repeated, amazed.

"Clean, simple, Scandinavian." His mouth twisted in a rare smile. "Asinine, but there you go. Special order from some place calledKehys. Means Framework.Har de har. That it?"

"Yeah, for now."

"Good." He cut her off again.

"Man after my own heart. Peabody?"

"Already on it. Data onKehys coming through."

"Follow it up."

"Me, sir?"

"It's your line. Tug it." With this, Eve rolled out of the car and made a beeline for the house.

She shook herself like a wet dog when she hit the foyer, started to strip off the jacket that had gotten soaked on the short run. And the voice, like God's coldest wrath, rolled down the pristine hall.

"Stop that immediately! This is a home, not a bathhouse."

With her jacket dripping in her hand, she watched Summerset come forward. He used a cane, and limped rather heavily, but his face was set in its usual pruney and disapproving lines. He carried towels over his arm.

"If you're able to walk on those ugly sticks you call legs, why are you still in my universe?"

He handed her a towel, then adroitly snatched the jacket from her. "I will be leaving on my postponed holiday in the morning. Meanwhile, you're making a puddle on the floor."

"Meanwhile you're making a buzzing in my ears." She turned toward the stairs just as Peabody rushed in.

"Summerset!" The delight in her voice had Eve rolling her eyes heavenward. "Hey, it's great to see you up and around. How're you feeling?"

"Quite well all in all, thank you." He offered her a towel. "Your uniform's damp, Officer. I'd be happy to get you something dry to wear and have your uniform laundered."

"I'd really appreciate that." She broke off at the sound Eve made-a kind of guttural snarl. "I'll be in her office," Peabody whispered, then jogged up the stairs behind Eve. "It is damp," she began. "I could catch a chill or something. Don't want to get sick during an investigation, especially when I'm studying like mad during my off time."

"Did I say anything?"

"Oh yeah. You said plenty."

Eve merely sent Peabody a long, bland stare that made the hair on the back of her aide's neck stand at attention. "I'm going to change into something nice and comfy and dry."

She veered off and strode into the bedroom.

Just for spite, she let her wet clothes fall into a soggy pile. That would burn his bony ass, she thought. She dragged on a T-shirt, jeans, strapped her weapon back into place, and considered herself done.

To give Peabody extra time, she headed into Roarke's office rather than her own.

When he glanced up, when he smiled, she felt a number of the rocky areas of her life go smooth again.

"Hello, Lieutenant."

"Hello, civilian." Maybe she could take just a minute of extra time herself. She walked around his console, leaned down, and caught his face in her hands, pressed her mouth to his.

"Well then," he remarked, and started to yank her onto his lap.

"Uh-uh, that's all you get."

"So, you just came in to torture and torment me?"

"There you go. What have you got for me?"

"A very crude answer to that question springs to mind, but I take it you're referring to my little homework assignment rather than my-"

"Affirmative." But relieved, she sat on the edge of his console to face him. It was good to see the tension gone from his face, from the set of his shoulders. "I've got Peabody working an angle, one she came up with. I've just spent a good hour stewing over one of my own without getting a bump."

"I don't know how much I can add to that. Though spreading the grease around, per your request, has netted me a few names, none fit your profile."

"Maybe I'm off." She pushed away from the console, paced over to the window to stare out at the storm. "I've been off since the get-go on this."

"If you have, I'll take the blame for it."

"You don't live inside my brain."

Don't I?he wondered. "I haven't been any help to you."

"Funny," she said without turning. "I managed to be a pretty good cop for a full decade before you came waltzing along."

"I don't believe I waltzed along. And I've no doubt you'd continue to be a great deal more than a pretty good cop without me. But the fact is I've distracted you. Worrying about me has split both your concentration and your priorities. I'm sorry for it."

"I guess you've never had them split because you were worried about me."