Calculated in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

it before she programs something fattening. You’ve never had to worry about your weight,” Peabody added. “When you do, you use all kinds of tricks and incentives.”
    “She liked her work, according to every statement. But this wasn’t a second home, the way some offices are. She made it comfortable, but she doesn’t have a lot of personal stuff. The photos, the pencil holder, not much else.”
    She had more in her own, smaller space at Central, Eve realized. Little things—the paperweight mostly to give her something to pick up, fiddle with; the sun catcher in her tiny window, just because she liked it there; the silly talking gun Peabody had given her, because it made her laugh.
    She’d had a plant once, but since she’d nearly killed it with neglect, she’d passed that off.
    Eve turned to the desk ’link, ordered a replay of the day before.
    Inter-office stuff, nothing that popped. A couple communications with clients, which she noted down, another with Legal on a thorny question Eve didn’t even understand, one to the nanny to tell her she’d be late, and could she stay and help Denzel with dinner for the kids, then the final two with her husband.
    As she shut it off, she glanced up, saw the pale, tear-ravaged face of the woman in the doorway.
    “I heard her voice. I thought . . . When I heard her voice.”
    “Josie Oslo?”
    “Yes. Yes, I’m Josie. I’m Marta’s assistant.”
    “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. You should sit down. We need to ask you a few questions.”
    “I didn’t hear before I came in. I never turn on the screen in the morning. I never have time. When I got here Lorraine—Ms. Wilkie—she was crying. Then everybody was crying. Nobody knew what to do.”
    She looked around the room in a helpless search that had her pressing her knuckles to her mouth. “Sly—Mr. Gibbons was a little late. He tried to contact Marta’s husband, but nobody answered, and he tried to talk to someone at the police, but they didn’t tell him anything, not really. And he said we should cancel any appointments for today and tomorrow. We could go home. Nobody really went home, not yet.”
    “It helps to be around other people who knew her,” Peabody said, and gently led Josie to a chair.
    “I guess. When I heard her voice, I thought,
See it’s a mistake
. I’ve been trying to tell everybody it has to be a mistake. But it isn’t.”
    “No, I’m sorry, it isn’t a mistake.” Eve leaned back against the desk. “How long have you been Marta’s assistant?”
    “About two years. I came on right out of college. I’m going to grad school part-time.”
    “Have there been any problems lately?”
    “Marta’s printer broke. But I fixed it.”
    “Anything out of the ordinary,” Eve qualified.
    “No, I don’t think so. That’s not true! I forgot. Jim and Chaz were in an accident, a car accident in Las Vegas. They went to a convention out there and were supposed to be back yesterday, but they were in a cab that got hit, and Chaz—that’s Mr. Parzarri—and Mr. Arnold were hurt. That’s why Sly had to give Marta and Lorraine the extra work. That’s why Marta was working late. That’s why.”
    “As her assistant you know what she’s working on. You keep a log of incoming contacts, appointments.”
    “Yeah, sure. Yes.”
    “Have there been any contacts recently that caused concern, that were upsetting or unusual?”
    Josie’s eyes cut away. “No.”
    “Josie.” Eve spoke just sharply enough to have the woman’s gaze zipping back to hers. “You need to tell us.”
    “Marta said I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”
    “That was before.” Peabody sat down beside her. “You want to help Marta, to do what’s right for her and her family.”
    “I do. I really do. She didn’t want Sly upset, and she said she’d take care of it.”
    “Take care of what?” Eve demanded.
    “It was just . . . Ms. Mobsley. Um, Marta was doing the audit on her trust fund because the