Reunion in Death

«Are you kidding?» Peabody wiggled her butt into the seat. «You couldn't stop me now. I'm getting an education.» She continued to read, eyes widening now and then, throat working. «Jesus, I think I just had an orgasm.»

«Thanks for sharing that piece of information. What else did you get from them?»

«A real admiration for Mr. C's imagination and stamina.»

«Let me rephrase. What didn't you get from them?»

«Well, he never signs his name in full.» Knowing she was missing something, Peabody stared down at the letters again. «No envelopes, so they could have been hand-delivered or mailed.» She sighed. «I'm getting a D in this class. I don't know what you're seeing here that I'm not.»

«What I'm not seeing is more to the point. No reference to how, when, or where they met. How they became lovers. No mention of where they boinked each other's brains out in various athletic positions. That makes me pause and reflect.»

At sea, Peabody shook her head. «On?»

«On the possibility that there never was a Mr. C.»

«But-«

«You have a woman,» Eve interrupted, «married for several years, with a good, responsible job, a circle of friends she's kept for, again, several years. From all statements none of those friends had any inkling of an affair. Not in the way she behaved, spoke, lived. She had no time missing from work. So when did said athletic boinking take place?»

«The husband traveled fairly regularly.»

«That's right, which opens the possibility for an affair if one is so inclined. Yet our victim exhibited all indications of loyalty, responsibility, honesty. She went to work, she came home. She went out in the company of her husband or with groups of friends. There were no unsubstantiated or questionable calls made to or from her home, office, or portable 'links. Just how did she and Mr. C. discuss their next tryst?»

«In person? Maybe he was someone at work.»

«Maybe.»

«But you don't think so. Okay, she appears to have been committed to her marriage, but outsiders, even close pals, don't really know what goes on inside someone else's marriage. Sometimes the partner doesn't even know.»

«Absolutely true. The primary on this agrees with you and had every reason to do so.»

«But you don't.» Peabody acknowledged. «You think the husband set it up, made it look like she was cheating, either set up the alibi and snuck home to kill her, or had it done?»

«It's an option. That's why we're going to talk to him.»

Eve shot up a ramp to the second-level street parking, muscled her vehicle between a sedan and a jet-bike. «He works out of his home most days.» She nodded toward the apartment building. «Let's see if he's there.»

He was home. A fit, attractive man wearing athletic shorts and a T-shirt and holding a toddler on his hip. One look at Eve's badge had a shadow moving into his eyes. One that had the texture of grief.

«It's about Marsha? Has there been something new?» He turned his face, briefly, into the white-blonde hair of the little girl he carried. «I'm sorry, come in. It's been so long since anyone's gotten in touch about what happened. If you want to sit down, I'd like to settle my daughter in the other room. I'd rather she didn't…»

This time it was his hand that moved to the girl's hair. Protectively. «Just give me a minute.»

Eve waited until they'd left the room. «How old's the kid, Peabody?»

«About two, I'd say.»

Eve nodded and moved into the living area. There were toys strewn about the floor and cheery furnishings.

She heard a high-pitched, childish giggle, and a firm demand. «Daddy! Play!»

«In a little while, Trade. You play now, and when Mommy gets home maybe we'll go out to the park. But you have to be good while I talk to these ladies. Deal?»

«Swings?»

«You bet.»

When he came back, he ran both hands through his own dark blond hair. «I didn't want her to hear us talk about Marsha, about what happened. Has there been a break? Have you finally found him?»

«I'm sorry, Mr. Stibbs. This is a routine followup.»

«Then there's nothing? I'd hoped … I guess it's stupid after all this time to think you'd find him.»

«You have no idea who your wife was having an affair with.»

«She wasn't.» He bit the words off, fury leaping onto his face and turning it hard. «I don't care what anyone says. She wasn't having an affair. I never believed … At first I did, I guess, when everything was crazy and I couldn't think straight. Marsha wasn't a liar, she wasn't a cheater. And she loved me.»

He closed his eyes, seemed to draw himself in. «Can we sit down?»

He dropped into a chair. «I'm sorry I shouted at you. I can't stand people saying that about Marsha. I can't stand knowing people, friends, think it of her. She doesn't deserve that.»

«There were letters found in her drawer.»

«I don't care about the letters. She wouldn't have cheated on me. We had …»