Down the Rabbit Hole

“We’re fine.” Eve took a seat in a high-backed chair with curved legs while Roarke took its twin, and the madam settled on a long, low couch.

“I’ve read of your work—both of you—and very much enjoyed Nadine Furst’s book on your investigation of the Icoves. It’s my sense you don’t generally seek the services I provide.”

“We’re here on official business. Did you know Darlene Fitzwilliams?”

“Fitzwilliams?” Madam Dupres’s dark eyes narrowed. Her index finger went to her right temple, pressed. “Darlene. Why?”

“Last night she stabbed her brother to death, then jumped off his fifty-second-floor terrace to her own death.”

“Death? Two deaths?” Now all four fingers pressed, and her color drained. “What time? Could you tell me what time they died?”

“Between eight and eight thirty last night.”

“I . . . I’ve been in meditation. I was disturbed, felt something dark crowding me. Shortly after eight last night.”

“Is that so?”

“I dreamed of death—a waking dream—so much blood, such grief. There was no ignoring such grief, so I went into meditation, inside a circle of light.”

“Are you going to tell me you know why Darlene killed her brother and herself?”

“Fitzwilliams?” Pain clouded her eyes. “I don’t . . . Was she— I’m sorry, terrible headache.” She got to her feet. “It came on so quickly. I need to take a blocker. I want to help, but . . . She was young, wasn’t she? Very beautiful and young and in love and sad and— I’m sorry. If you’ll excuse me for just a moment.”

She walked away quickly, turned in to a doorway.

“Meditation, circle of light.” Eve pushed to her feet. “She knows something. Your bullshit meter’s as tuned as mine. What’s your take?”

“The pain was real.”

“Yeah.” Frustrated, Eve jammed her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, it was. We’ll give her a minute. There’s something . . . She avoided a yes or no. Did you know her or not? And she damn well did. People don’t go pale and sick over the death of a stranger.”

Impatient to get back to it, Eve looked around. “The place looks normal, quiet and normal. Where’s all her trappings?”

She circled the room, glancing at crystals, candles, then angled to look into a neat kitchen with white cabinets.

“She’s taking too long.”

Suspicion rose up to twine with impatience. Eve crossed to the doorway, saw the pretty bedroom beyond. Across from it another doorway opened to a kind of cozy sitting room, with dozens of white candles.

Circle of light, she thought, and started to step into the bedroom, to call again, when she heard the sound of breaking glass.

She charged in, tried the closed door, found it locked. As Roarke rushed in behind her, Eve kicked the door once, cursed, kicked it a second time.

Dupres lay on the white tiled floor of the bathroom, blood pooling around her from the deep gash in her thigh.

“Call for a bus!” Eve shouted.

Grabbing towels, she kicked the shards of broken mirror out of her way, crouched down to bind the towels on the wound.

“She’s bleeding out—gashed the femoral artery. For Christ’s sake.”

“On their way.” Roarke took another towel, wrapped it around the deep gash in Dupres’s hand.

Dupres’s eyes opened, stared into Eve’s. “Beware the Mad Hatter.”

“Who is that? Give me a name.”

“Lies, all lies. All his words, even his name. Dark is his truth. Death is his joy. I sent her to him. I sent her to her death. He’ll seek yours now. Beware the Mad Hatter,” she repeated, and the eyes staring into Eve’s died.





CHAPTER NINE




Having someone die under her hands pissed her off. Having someone die under her hands during a damn interview added a whole new level to pissed.

She watched the MTs pronounce Dupres and wished she had something handy to kick into pulp.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Roarke said.

“I let her walk off, walk out of sight to get a damn blocker.”