The words, clipped as her walk, didn’t quite hide a simmering flash of temper. Grange had dumped responsibility and embarrassment on her assistant, Eve concluded.
And she bet it wasn’t the first time.
“No problem.”
Eve stepped through and into the spacious entrance hall. The founder’s gold-framed portrait greeted them. Lester Hensen sat in judge’s robes—looking, well, sober and judicious.
It didn’t smell or feel like a school, Eve realized, and indeed she saw no signs of classrooms, or students. So administration only, she thought.
No mixing.
They passed another glass wall. Behind it a number of people worked at a number of stations. There a portrait of the founder, and one of the current headmaster, graced the walls.
Eve figured it would be like being spied on by the brass.
They moved past a number of offices, doors closed, then up a wide flight of stairs.
Light poured in from skylights, through graceful windows over the blue marble floor.
Eve wanted to ask Mulray just how much her feet and legs ached after a day walking in heels on the unforgiving surface.
Grange’s dominion also rated double doors. When Mulray opened them, pale gold carpet replaced the marble. A couple of drones who’d obviously been chatting got quickly busy at their desks.
Images of the campus graced the walls, along with another portrait of the headmistress. A waiting area held two sofas, four chairs. They kept going—and Eve saw the drones give each other a quick grin behind Mulray’s back.
Through another door they entered the assistant’s office. A single desk, fully ordered, a small wall screen, a couple of visitors’ chairs, a recessed refreshment center.
Mulray used a swipe key to access the next door.
“The headmaster would like you to wait in her office,” she began. “As I said, she hopes to be with you very shortly. In the meantime, is there anything I can get you? Some coffee perhaps?”
Eve let the question hang while she looked around the office.
About triple the size of her assistant’s, it had walls done in a quiet green with a generous sitting area holding a sofa done in the same green with thin stripes that echoed the carpet. The facing chairs reversed the pattern.
On the wall, along with art of the school hung several photos of the headmistress with what Eve assumed were donors, luminaries, VIPs.
The desk with its mirror gloss angled so anyone sitting in the chair—high backed, dark gold leather—behind it had a full view of the door and the trio of graceful windows.
Mementos rather than books or work supplies on a set of floating shelves.
It had its own bath through a side door, tiled in marble with a shower and a long counter where the big-petaled lilies scenting the air sat in a crystal vase.
“Do you handle Ms. Grange’s travel?”
“Dr. Grange,” Mulray corrected. “Her professional travel, yes.”
“Any recent trips to New York?”
“I— None that I recall.”
“I’m going to need you to check on that. How long have you been Dr. Grange’s assistant?”
“I wasn’t aware you intended to interview me.”
Eve just stared through her. “Do you need time to come up with the answer?”
“Five years.” Mulray snapped it like a salute.
“You weren’t assistant to the headmaster when she came to Lester Hensen?”
“I took the position in August of 2056, after my predecessor retired.”
“Were you already on staff?”
“I was, as administrative assistant to the dean of students. I’ve been a part of Lester Hensen for nine years.”
“Then you were here when Stephen Whitt was a student. He would have graduated in ’53.”
“We have between nine hundred and nine hundred and twenty students in this school every year. I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly remember every one of them.”
“Even the son of a major donor?” Eve walked over to a framed photo on the walls. “That’s daddy right there.”
“I’m sorry I can’t help you.”
“Me, too.” Eve checked her wrist unit. “Why don’t you see how much longer Dr. Grange intends to keep the NYPSD waiting?”
“Please have a seat.” Back straight, Mulray walked out.
“I wonder how she walks around without wincing, given how stiff her neck is.”
Eve smiled. “Practice. Somebody, I’m betting, was in the military before she got into administration. And somebody wasn’t telling us the truth, was she, Peabody?”
“No, sir. She knew Whitt’s name. You know what else?”
“Do I want to?”
“I think you’d find it interesting that the fabric on that couch, those chairs? That’s going to go for about six hundred a yard.”
Eve gave them another look. “That’s a lot, I assume, not being updated on fabric prices.”
“Figuring about fourteen yards—maybe fifteen—for the sofa, another twelve to fourteen for the chairs … Add some more yardage for the piping. You can do the math.”
“No,” Eve said, “I really can’t.”
“Well, you’re going to hit over twenty-couple thousand, and that’s before labor, before the fancy custom pillows, before the fricking sofa and chair bases you’re covering. Before, because look around, the fancy interior decorator fee. Just the sofa and chairs? I’m betting forty large.”
“For a sitting area in a headmaster’s office? Seems … excessive.”
“Oh yeah.” Warming to the theme, Peabody gestured with both hands. “Add that desk? That’s cherrywood, the real deal, and so are those shelves. Plus, it looks custom. That’s going to go for a good ten large right there.”
“You can be handy, Peabody.”
“I know my wood and fabric. You put it all together, with the tables, the lamps, those custom valances over the windows—and yeah, add the custom cherry frames on all the photos…” She poked her head in the bath. “Jesus, the Egyptian cotton towels and all that? You’re cruising toward a couple hundred grand, Dallas.”
“That’s some decorating budget. You know what else, Peabody?”
“I don’t know if I can take any more. I have wood and fabric envy.”
“There’s not a single book, not in here, in the assistant’s area, not in the assistants to the assistant’s area. Not a single file or disc on the desk, the shelves. This office is all about her.”
“Yeah, it is. And even though I admire her taste, I don’t like her already.”
“Just channel that into looking intimidated. To start, anyway.”
Eve turned as the door opened. She’d studied Grange’s photo a number of times already, but she had to admit the woman was impressive. She wore her deep brown hair in short, fashionable waves, masterfully highlighted. Though she stood on the soft side of seventy, her skin glowed smooth, telling Eve she’d had masterful work there, too.
With the heels, she hit a statuesque five-eleven, with a curvy body shown to perfection in a tailored suit of blazing red.
Her eyes, a green as pale as the walls, studied Eve as coolly as she was studied.