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She found Alva at home, not a penthouse this time, but a pretty brownstone on the Upper West.
Eve approved the security, especially when it didn’t dick around with her. Within moments, Alva opened the door wearing a slim, short purple dress and bare feet.
“Lieutenant Dallas, what timing. I just got in from work.”
“Work?”
“I put time in with a nonprofit group. A family foundation thing. Come in.”
The foyer boasted walls nearly the same color as Alva’s dress and a tile rug in geometric prints. Alva moved through, to the left and into a wide, high-ceilinged living area that hit somewhere between the Dickensons’ and Candida’s in style. Rich—Eve recognized it in the art, in the fabrics, the scatter of antiques. And comfort in deep cushions, more color, a softly simmering fire in the hearth.
“I was about to have a glass of wine—long day. Can I offer you one?”
“Thanks anyway, but go ahead.”
“Sissy’s getting it. My housekeeper,” she explained. “She was my nanny once upon a time, and she’s still looking out for me. Please, sit down. I expected I’d hear from you again. Have you found out what happened to that poor woman?”
“The investigation’s ongoing.”
“Brad got in touch about an hour ago.” Alva sat, curled up her legs. “He said you’d come to talk to him and the others. And that you think she was killed inside the apartment. That she was a specific target.”
“He saved me time explaining.”
“Shouldn’t he have told me?”
“It’s fine.” She glanced over when a tall, attractive brunette came in with a tray holding a bottle of red wine, two glasses, and a little plate of cheese and fruit.
“Thanks, Sissy. This is Lieutenant Dallas. Cicily Morgan, my rock.”
“It’s good to meet you.” She spoke in an accent Eve thought of as classy Brit. “Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
“On duty, but thanks.”
“Coffee? Tea?”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll leave you to talk.”
“Sissy, sit down and have a glass of wine with me since Lieutenant Dallas can’t. Is it all right?” Alva asked Eve. “I’ve already told Sissy the whole story.”
“It’s fine,” Eve said. “I’m just here to follow up. Maybe you can tell me a little more about your relationship with Bradley Whitestone.”
“We met at a fund-raiser a few weeks ago. He’s courting me.” She smiled as she poured wine in two glasses. “My portfolio anyway. I don’t mind. He has good, fresh ideas, an appealing approach.”
“So it’s not a personal relationship.”
“Not yet determined. I like him, but I’m careful. I wasn’t always, was I?” She patted Sissy’s hand, got a quiet smile.
“You were young, perhaps a bit headstrong.”
“A bit?” Alva tossed back her head on a laugh. “Sissy’s discreet. I went through a wild stage, not that long ago in the scheme of things. Clubs, clubs, more clubs, parties, men. Even a couple of women just to say I had. Throwing money away because it was there. Then I was wild with the wrong man. He hurt me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“To keep the story short, he beat me unconscious, raped me, then beat me again. He stole from me, tossed me out of my own apartment—naked. If one of the neighbors hadn’t heard me, gotten me inside, called the police, I don’t know what might have happened.”
“Did they get him?”
