In Death 24 - Innocent in Death

eighty percent of the known universe.”
    “You exaggerate, it wouldn’t be more than fifty, and, oh, aye.” His grin was fast and fierce. “I bloody well can.”
    “And you’ve got data on her that would interest the international authorities?”
    “What do you take me for? Of course I do.” He waited a moment, reading her face perfectly. “I’m not giving it to you, Eve. Two reasons.”
    “They’d better be good ones.”
    “First, it’s not your concern, and don’t even think about raising that fist to me. This is my doing, her coming here, her causing trouble. Second, it’ll keep her up at night, for some time to come, wondering what I have, and what I might do with it. She’ll be looking over her shoulder a long time.”
    “I think your first reason’s crap, but the second is really mean, really insidious. I like it a lot, so we’ll call it a wash.”
    “Good. Well, I’ll open that for you, shall I, and we’ll have our Valentine’s dinner while we see what’s inside.”
    “Um…”
    “It’s pizza. It was to be pizza and champagne actually.”
    “Seriously?”
     
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    “I know my wife as she knows me.” He tapped a finger on her nose. “So it’ll be pepperoni pizza and coffee-with the champagne for another time.”
    “You know, you really are my Valentine.”
     
    303

Chapter 22
    BEFORE BREAKING THE SEAL ON THE EVIDENCE bag containing Rayleen’s diary, Eve turned on her recorder, logged in the necessary data. She took the metal box-embossed with some sort of wide-petaled flowers-out of the evidence bag, set it on her desk.
    “Peabody found it in the kitchen recycler.”
    “Clever Peabody,” Roarke replied as he chose a tool.
    “If things hadn’t moved as fast as they did-au pair coming back and so on-if Peabody hadn’t been basically on the scene with the direct purpose of finding this, it might’ve been garbage by morning. Takes more than one cycle for something of this size, material, and density to break down. All she managed was to bang the box up.”
    “A pity, too. It’s a lovely box. Sturdy, well made, which is why it held up as well as it did. The girl should have taken the book out of it. That might have broken down before it was found.”
    “Some, but she doesn’t know everything. There’s a lot we can put back together in the lab. And…Okay, nice work,” she added, as he had the crushed and passcoded lock open in under ten seconds.
    “Well, it’s not a titanium vault, after all.”
    Hands already sealed, Eve lifted out the bright pink book inside. It was leather-bound, and again had Rayleen’s name across it in glittery silver letters. It also had a lock, and this one appeared to use an old-fashioned key.
    “Comp would be faster than handwritten pages,” she commented.
    “And I’ll wager, however indulgent her parents, they wouldn’t allow her to passcode anything on a comp. This…” He tapped a finger on the book. “This seems harmless, very traditional, something a young girl might enjoy.”
    She stepped back and let Roarke finesse the lock.
    “I’m going to want copies of everything inside there,” she told him.
    “Before you read it?”
    “No. I want to put the last few pages on record first, then make the copies. But even more, I want to know.”
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    She flipped through the pink-tipped pages, found the last entry. With her recorder trained on the tidy handwriting on pale pink pages with shiny gold edges, she read out loud.
    “This morning I wore my pink-and-black plaid skirt and pink knee boots, and my white sweater with flowers on the hem and cuffs. I looked very pretty. I had fruit and yogurt and seven-grain toast for breakfast, and asked Cora to make real orange juice. That’s what she gets paid for. I had Brain Teasers. It’s getting a little boring, so I might find a way to quit. But still, I like knowing I’m smarter than any of the other students. Just like I’m better than anyone in my dance class. I could, if I wanted, be a prima ballerina one day.
    “After BT, Cora and I took a cab to the Met. I don’t see why we couldn’t use a car service. I’m going to ask Daddy about that. I like the art, but mostly everyone who painted anything is dead anyway. I could be a famous artist if I wanted, and have my paintings in the Met. People would pay a lot of money just to look at my paintings. But I think I’d sell mine to collectors. I don’t want people who don’t knowanything and don’t deserve it to just stand