"I was in the kitchen." Another man spoke up. "I'm, um, Don Clump.

You remember, Mr. Markie? We were in here together when we heard the commotion."

"That's correct." Markie nodded. "I'd just sent Charlie out with the crab puffs, and was instructing Don to begin a pass with the stuffed mushrooms. Gwen was just coming in with empties, and we heard shouting."

"I have a witness who states that a female member of your staff handed Mr. Pettibone a glass of champagne just before he began his toast." Gazes shifted, dropped.

"It had to be Julie." Sing-Yu spoke up again. "I'm sorry, Mr. Markie, but she's the only one who could've done it, and she's the only one who's not here."

"Who's Julie and why isn't she here?" Eve demanded.

"I don't like my employees gossiping about one another," Markie began.

"This is a police investigation. Witness statements aren't gossip, and I expect you and your staff to cooperate. Who is Julie?" Eve asked, turning to Sing-Yu.

"She's absolutely right." Markie let out a long sigh, then moved over to pat Sing-Yu's shoulder. "I'm sorry, my dear, I'm not angry with you. Julie Dockport," he said to Eve. "She's been with my company for two months. As to where she is, I can't say. She must have slipped out in the confusion immediately following Mr. Pettibone's collapse.

It took me a few moments to realize there was a problem and to get from the kitchen to the living area. I didn't see her. When the police arrived and told us to come in here, to remain in here, she didn't come."

"She wearing this getup?" Eve nodded toward the trim black pants and starched white shirts of the serving staff. "Yes."

"Describe her."

"Medium build, I suppose, on the athletic side. Short red hair, attractive. About thirty, give or take a year one way or the other. I'd have to check my employment files to be exact on that."

"Peabody, take the staff to another area. Put a uniform on them, then go find Julie Dockport." "Yes, sir."

When they filed out, Eve sat, gestured to Markie. "Now. Tell me what you know about this woman."

It wasn't much. She heard words like competent, reliable, cooperative.

"She applied for a position," Markie went on. "Her references checked out. She's been an excellent employee. I can only think she was upset and frightened about what happened here tonight and left."

They both glanced over as Peabody came back in. "I can't locate her on the premises, Lieutenant." "Do a run, get her address. I want her picked up." She got to her feet. "You can go."

"My staff and I will pack up the food and supplies."

"No, you won't. This is a crime scene. It stays as is for now. We'll contact you when it's clear for you to clean house." ...

She took the son and daughter next. With their spouses they were huddled together at one end of the table in the formal dining room.

Four pairs of eyes red and swollen with weeping turned to Eve.

The man who stood, bracing one hand on the table, was light complected with hair of a dull, dense blond worn short and straight.

He had a soft chin and lips that all but disappeared when he pressed them together in a grim line.

"What's happening? Who are you? We need some answers."

"Wally." The woman beside him was also blonde, but her hair was brighter and upswept. "You'll only make it worse." "How can it be worse?" he demanded. "My father's dead."

"I'm Lieutenant Dallas. I'm very sorry for your loss, and apologize for the delay in speaking with you, Mr. Pettibone."

"Walter C. Pettibone IV," he told her. "My wife, Nadine." He turned his hand under the one the blonde had laid over his, gripped tight.

"My sister, Sherilyn, and her husband, Noel Walker. Why are we being kept in here this way? We need to be with my father."

"That's not possible at the moment. There are things that need to be done to get you those answers you need. Sit down, Mr. Pettibone."

"What happened to my father?" It was Sherilyn who spoke. She was a petite brunette, and Eve thought she was probably remarkably pretty under most circumstances. Now her face was ravaged from weeping. "Could you just tell us, please?" She reached out, taking her brother's free hand, and her husband's, forming them into a unit.

"What happened to Daddy?"

"The cause of death hasn't been confirmed."

"I heard the MTs." She took a long deep breath, and her voice strengthened. "I heard them say he was poisoned. That can't possibly be true." "We'll know very soon. It would help if you'd tell me what each of you were doing, where you were in the room when Mr.

Pettibone collapsed." "We were right there, standing right beside him," Sherilyn began. "Everyone was standing there-"

"Sherry." Noel Walker brought their joined hands to his lips. It was a gesture Roarke often made, Eve noted. One of comfort, of love, of solidarity.

He turned his attention to Eve. His hair was dark like his wife's and waved around a strong, handsome face. "Walt was making a toast.

Sentimental and sweet. He was a sentimental and sweet man. Bambi was at his right side. Sherry was next to her and I was at her right.

Wally was directly at his left, with Nadine beside him. When he finished his toast, he took a drink of champagne. We all did. Then he began to choke. I believe Wally slapped him on the back, the way you do. Bambi grabbed at him when he staggered. He pulled at his collar as if it was too tight, then fell forward."

He glanced at Wally as if for confirmation.

"He was gasping," Wally continued. "We turned him over on his back. Peter Vance, he's a doctor, pushed through the people who'd crowded around. And my father-he had some sort of seizure. Peter said to call the MTs. Nadine ran to do so."

"Was he able to speak to any of you?"

"He never said anything," Sherilyn answered. "He looked at me." Her voice cracked again. "He looked right at me just before he fell.

Everyone was talking at once. It all happened so fast, there wasn't time to say anything."

"Where did he get the drink?"

"From a tray, I suppose," Wally said. "The caterers had been passing champagne since guests began to arrive at seven."

"No." Sherilyn shook her head slowly. "No, one of the servers handed it to him. She wasn't carrying a tray, just the one flute. She took his nearly empty glass and gave him a full one. She wished him happy birthday."

"That's right," her husband confirmed. "The little redhead. I noticed her. She had rather stunning green eyes. I paint," he explained.

"Portraits primarily. I tend to notice faces and what makes them unique."

"What did she do after she gave him the drink?"

"She, ah, let me think. Walt called for everyone's attention. Most of the guests were in the riving area at that time. Conversations quieted down while he began to speak. She stepped back. She was listening to him, just like the rest of us. Smiling, I think. Yes, I recall thinking she was very personable, and how she seemed to take an interest in what Walt was saying. I think I smiled at her when Walt finished his toast, but she was watching him. Then we all drank, and I didn't notice her once Walt began to choke."

"I think I saw her." Nadine lifted a hand to the long triple string of pearls she wore. "When I ran out to call for help, I saw her in the foyer." "What was she doing?" Eve asked.

"I think, well, she must have been leaving. She was walking away, toward the door." "None of you had seen her before tonight?" When they all looked at each other, a sort of baffled head-shaking, Eve went on, "Does the name Julie Dockport mean anything? Maybe your father mentioned it."

"I never heard him mention that name." Wally glanced around as the rest of his family shook their heads again. "Do you know if he was concerned about anyone, or anything? A business deal, a personal problem."

"He was happy," Sherilyn said quietly. "He was a happy man."

"A happy man," Eve stated after she released the family, "loved by one and all doesn't get poisoned on his birthday. There's something under this pretty picture, Peabody."

"Yes, sir. The officers who went to Dockport's address report that she's not there. Her across-the-hall neighbor told them she moved out that morning. Claimed she was moving to Philly."

"I want sweepers over there, now. I want that place combed. They won't find anything, but I want it done." "Sir?"

"Looks like we've got ourselves a pro."

CHAPTER 4

Though it was after one in the morning when she got home, Eve wasn't surprised to find Roarke in his office. It was rare for him to sleep more than five hours a night. Rarer still for him not to wait up until she was home.

The work fueled him, she knew. More than the obscene amounts of money he made every time he wheeled a deal, it was the deal itself-the planning, the strategizing, the negotiating, that engaged his interests and energies.