But Eve noted that the noise level had dropped. Perhaps, at one time or another, other items had found their way into Eileen’s recycler.

“Have a seat. I’ll just put Annie in her chair.”

The chair was a round and colorful deal with dozens of bright buttons and rolling things to entertain curious fingers. It beeped and it buzzed and let out what Eve thought was a fairly creepy chuckle. But Annie was immediately engaged.

“Word is that Mr. Foster was poisoned.” Eileen dropped into a black scoop chair. “Is that true?”

“We’ve determined Mr. Foster ingested a poisonous substance, yes.”

“Just tell me, is it safe for me to take these kids to school?”

“We have no reason to believe the students are in any danger.”

“Thank God-on so many levels. I don’t want anything to happen to Martin-or any of them. But, sweet Jesus, I don’t want to be saddled with four kids all day.”

“Four?” Eve repeated, and felt an immediate flood of fear and sympathy. “Only Martin Ferguson is listed as your child on school records.”

“I’ve got kid duty this week.”

“Which is?”

“I take the group-that’s Martin, and Dillon from upstairs, Callie Yost, she’ll be here in a minute, and Macy Pink. We pick her up on the way; she lives a block down. Haul them to school, pick them up at the end of the day. In case of school cancellation or the enormous number of school holidays, I deal with them. We cycle-every week one of the parents has kid duty.”

“You signed in the day Mr. Foster died at shortly after eight and were there for forty minutes.”

“Yeah, got them in early, dumped them in Early Care, then I had to take the dozen cupcakes to the nutrition center for clearance.”

“Do parents or students routinely bring in outside food?”

“Not without much to-do. It was Martin’s birthday, hence the cupcakes. I had preclearance for them. You can’t take in outside food for student groups without preclearance. You have to fill out a form,” Eileen explained, “note down the type of food and all the ingredients in case any of the kids have allergies or conditions, or cultural restrictions-parental restrictions.”

Eileen paused and began to take tiny clothes out of a basket and fold them into tinier shapes. “Pain in the butt from my view, but the rules are fairly strict. The principal and the nutritionist have to sign off on it. It’s like national security. I got them cleared, paid the fee for the juice I forgot to bring to go with the cupcakes. Then I realized I’d picked up Callie’s school bag instead of Annie’s diaper bag, and had to go back to Early Care, make the switch. At which time I realized, clued in byeau de Annie, that she desperately needed the diaper bag. I dealt with that. I guess it could’ve taken forty minutes.”

“During that time, who did you see or speak to?”

“Well, Laina-the nutritionist-Lida Krump, early care provider, and her assistant, Mitchell. I saw Principal Mosebly briefly. We passed in the hall as I was leaving and spoke for a minute. How are you, happy birthday to Martin, and so on. I actually saw Craig Foster going into the staff lounge. I didn’t even stop to talk to him, just sent him a wave and kept going. I wish I’d taken a minute, but you always think you’re going to have a minute more, some other time.”

“Did you know him well?”

“As well as any of the staff, I suppose. I’d run into him now and again in the neighborhood, and we had the usual conferences. Twice each term there are parent-teacher meetings, more if needed. They’re routinely needed for Martin,” she added with a wry smile.

“Martin had trouble with Mr. Foster?” Eve asked.

“Actually, Martin responded really well to Craig. Craig loved what he did, you could tell.”

“But you were called in for meetings.”

“Oh, yeah.” She laughed now. “They term Martin ‘exuberant,’ which is teacher-speak for a wild child. We’re going the private school route because there’s more one-on-one time, more discipline. It’s working.”

There was a crash, hysterical laughter, and mad barking. Eileen smiled wryly. “Mostly.”

“What about other staff? Reed Williams, for example.”

“Sure I know him.” Though she said it casually, her gaze shifted away, for just a moment.

“Did you see him outside of the school, Mrs. Ferguson?”

“No. Not me.”

“Meaning others did.”

“Maybe. I don’t see what that has to do with Craig.”

“Details are important. We understand Mr. Williams had or pursued a number of sexual relationships.”

“Oh, boy.” She blew out a breath. “He made what you could call a play-very subtle, very slick. Nothing I could call him on if I’d been inclined to. But you know when a man’s feeling you out. And most men know when a woman’s not interested. He backed right off. I’ve never had any trouble with him, or from him.”

“But others did?”

“Look, I know he hit on Jude Hadley. She told me, and she told me she met him for drinks. She’s divorced, and she was tempted. Then she decided no, it wasn’t something she wanted to get tangled up with. Especially since I saw Williams and Allika Straffo.”

“You saw them…?” Eve prompted.

“At the holiday party at the school? It was just a…” She shifted, obviously uncomfortable. “I saw how they looked at each other. And at one point, he touched her, just brushed his hand down her arm. But she pinked up. He wandered out, and a few seconds later, so did she. They came back separately, ten, fifteen minutes later. She had that look-you know, soft and loose. If they hadn’t had a quickie I’ll eat that damn droid pup.”

“Interesting,” Eve said as they stepped back into the chill of winter. “Allika Straffo, mother of one of the kids who finds the vic, is reputedly having quickies with Williams, who had the opportunity to kill Foster.”

“And Foster threatened to report Williams, which would involve Allika Straffo? Okay, but I tell you, I can’t see Williams getting worked up enough to poison Foster over the threat of being reported for having an affair with a student’s mother.”

“Straffo, on the other hand, is married, and married to a powerful man. She might’ve gotten worked up enough.”

“No record of her in the building on the day of.”

“Her kid was.”

“Her…Comeon, Dallas. You think she set her kid up as a hit man. Hit girl. Hit kid.”

“Maybe the kid was protecting Mommy.”

“Okay, wait.” Peabody climbed into the car. “First, let’s remember we’re talking about a ten-year-old girl.”

“Kids have been known to kill.” She’d only been eight when she’d killed her father. When she’d stabbed him over and over and over.

“Yeah, generally out of panic, fear, rage, impulse. But generally a nice, upper-class ten-year-old girl doesn’t spike the teacher’s go-cup with ricin. It’s a little extreme.”

“Yeah, it is. Maybe she didn’t know she was poisoning him. Mom says, ‘Hey, let’s play a game. Let’s trick Mr. Foster today.’”

“It’s pretty hard for me to swallow that a mother gets her kid to off a teacher because she’s been having private lessons from another.”

No, Eve decided, it didn’t bounce very well. Still. “It’s worth dropping by and chatting with her.”

The Straffos’ penthouse topped a sleek silver bullet of a building that afforded river views from its shimmering glass windows and wide terraces.

Both the doorman and building security were appropriately snooty, but also efficient enough to verify the police identification and clear them within moments.

The door of the penthouse was opened by a young woman with freckles dusting a wholesome face that was topped by carrot-red hair. Her brogue was as thick as a slice of brown bread.

It gave Eve a quick hitch in the belly to hear it, to think of Roarke.

“The missus will be right with you. She and Rayleen are just finishing breakfast. What would you like me to bring you then? Coffee, tea?”

“We’re good, thanks. What part of Ireland are you from?”