"Going on a trip, weren't you, Linus?" She stepped back. "What did you see, what did you know?" she murmured. "And who were you going to tap for the money to pay for your island vacation? Let's take this unit in to Feeney, Peabody."

Eliza Rothchild had made her debut on stage at the age of six months as a fretful baby causing her parents distress in a drawing room comedy. The play had flopped, but Eliza had been the critic's darling.

Her own mother had pushed her, pulled her, from audition to audition. By the age of ten, Eliza was a veteran of stage and screen. By twenty, she'd been a respected character actress, with a room full of awards, homes on three continents, and her first – and last – unhappy marriage behind her.

At forty, she'd been around so long no one wanted to see her, including producers. She claimed to be retired rather than used up, and had spent the next decade of her life traveling, throwing lavish parties, and fighting excruciating boredom.

When the opportunity arose to play the nagging nurse Miss Plimsoll in the stage production of Witness, she'd pretended reluctance, allowed herself to be wooed, and had privately wept copious tears of relief and gratitude.

She loved the theater more than she had ever loved any man or any woman.

Now, as her security screen announced the arrival of the police, she prepared to play her role with dignity and discretion.

She answered the door herself, a sternly attractive woman who didn't bother to disguise her age. Her hair was a rich auburn threaded with silver. The lines around her hazel eyes fanned out without apology. She wore a hip-skimming tunic and sweeping trousers over a short, sturdy body. She offered Eve a hand glittering with rings, smiled coolly, and stepped back.

"Good afternoon," she said in her smooth voice that held the granite of New England. "It's comforting to see the police are prompt."

"I appreciate your time, Ms. Rothchild."

"Well, I don't really have a choice, do I, but to give it to you."

"You're free to speak through or with a lawyer or representative."

"Of course. My lawyer is standing by, should I decide to do so." She gestured toward the living area. "I know your husband, Lieutenant. Quite the most fatally attractive man I've ever encountered. He may have told you I was reluctant to come out of retirement and accept the role of Miss Plimsoll. But quite frankly, I couldn't resist him."

She smiled again, sat in an elegant high-backed chair with a tapestry seat, rested her elbows on the wide arms, folded her hands. "Who could?"

"Roarke persuaded you to come out of retirement."

"Lieutenant, I'm sure you're aware there's nothing Roarke couldn't talk a woman into. Or out of."

Her eyes measured and judged Eve, then shifted idly to Peabody. "Still, you're not here to discuss Roarke but another fatally attractive man. Though, in my opinion, Richard lacked your husband's charm and underlying… we'll say decency, for lack of a better word."

"Were you and Richard Draco involved romantically?"

Eliza blinked several times, then laughed. The sound was a steady, bubbling gurgle. "Oh, my dear girl, should I be flattered or insulted? Oh me."

With a sigh, she patted her breast, as if the bout of humor had been a strain on the heart. "Let me say that Richard would never have wasted that particular area of his skills on me. Even when we were young, he considered me much too plain, too physically ordinary. 'Too intellectual,' I believe was one of his terms. He considered cultural intellect a flaw in a woman."

She paused, as if realizing she'd gone too far in the wrong direction, then opted to finish it out. "Gallantry was not one of his talents. He often made snide little jokes about my lack of appeal. I chose to be neither amused nor offended as what it came down to was simple. We were of an age, you see. Which meant I was years too old for his taste. And if I may say, several notches too self-reliant. He preferred the young and the vulnerable."

And that, Eve thought, had come out in a flood, as if it had been dammed up quite some time. "Then your relationship with him would have been strictly professional?"

"Yes. We certainly socialized. Theater people tend to be an incestuous little group – metaphorically, and literally as well, I suppose. We attended many of the same parties, performances, and benefits over the years. Never as a couple. We were civil enough, as we both knew he wasn't interested in me in a sexual manner, it took away that tension."

"Civil," Eve repeated. "But not friendly."

"No, I can't claim we were ever friendly."

"Can you tell me where you were on opening night, between the scenes that took place in the bar and the courtroom? The scene where Christine Vole is called back as a witness."

"Yes, of course, as it's as much a routine as what I do onstage. I went back to my dressing room to check my makeup. I prefer doing my own makeup, as most of us do. Then I was backstage for a time. My next scene has me in the balcony, watching the courtroom – and Sir Wilfred – along with the character of Diana and a number of extras."

"Did you see or speak with anyone between those scenes?"

"I'm sure I did." Eliza lifted her fingers, making a little steeple. Then collapsed them. "A number of the technical crew would have been backstage, and I might have exchanged a word or two. Carly and I passed each other."

"Passed each other?"

"Yes. As I was coming out of my dressing room, she was going toward hers. Hurriedly, as our cue was coming up shortly. Did we speak?"

She paused, pursing her lips, searching the ceiling as if for the memory. "I believe we did. She made some offhand complaint about Richard. I think she said he'd given her ass a bit of a pinch or pat. It annoyed her, as well it should, given his treatment of her."

She continued to sit, regally, her eyes bright and fixed on Eve's. "I find it hard to sympathize, as she's smart enough to know better than to get involved with a man of his nature. I believe I made just that sort of comment to Kenneth before I started up to the second level of the set to take my mark."

"You saw him as well."

"Yes, pacing about, muttering to himself. He often does so before a scene. I couldn't tell you if he heard me or noticed. Kenneth tries to stay in character and he works very hard to ignore Nurse Plimsoll."

"Anyone else?"

"Well, I… Yes, I saw Michael Proctor. He was in the wings. I'm sure he was dreaming of the night when he might have his chance to play Vole. Not that I believe for a moment he arranged to do so. He has such a helpless air, doesn't he? I can see this business devouring him whole in another year or so."

"And Areena Mansfield. Did you see her as well?"

"Certainly. She made the dash to her dressing room. She had a full costume and makeup change between those scenes. She raced right past me. But honestly, Lieutenant, if you want the positions and activities of the cast between scenes, you don't want to talk to one of us. You want Quim. He's head stagehand, a rumpled little man with sneaky eyes that miss little to nothing. He's everywhere."

"Not anymore," Eve said quietly. "Linus Quim was found hanged this morning in the theater. Lower level."

For the first time, Eliza's polished veneer cracked. Her hand went to her heart, trembled there. "Hanged?" The well-trained voice was husky on the single word. "Hanged?" she repeated. "There must be a mistake. Who would kill a harmless little toad like Quim?"

"It appeared to be self-termination."

"Nonsense." Eliza got to her feet. "Why, that's nonsense. It takes great bravery or great cowardice to end your own life. He had neither. He was just an irritating little man, one who did his job well and never seemed to enjoy it. If he's dead, someone killed him. That's two," she said almost to herself. "Two deaths in the theater. Tragedies come in threes. Who's next?"