Death by Diamonds by Annette Blair Page B

we never found out. He’s such a player, it could have been a number of women, and he never married after the divorce.”
    Note to me. Find out who Ian DeLong fooled around with. Oh, yeah, I already knew: anyone who wore a skirt.
    I needed to mingle, but I was too tired for intelligent speech. I longed to discuss my ideas about Dominique’s death with someone, preferably Nick. My head was spinning and I knew talking would help me clarify my thoughts. Nick had texted me that he’d returned to FBI headquarters after the “kneeing” incident, and he still hadn’t returned by the time the household retired.
    That’s when I learned that they put Nick and me in separate bedrooms on different floors. Great. I wanted to talk to him and to make sure he wasn’t permanently disabled. Kyle had given me Dom’s room, so I could look around, and frankly, I avoided the closet. That’s how tired I was. I was avoiding clothes altogether.
    Making myself at home in Dominique’s bedroom made me miss her something fierce. I curled up in her boudoir chair, the stuffed bunny from her bed in my arms, and I had a good cry.
    When Nick slipped into my room around midnight I was surprised my inelegant sobs didn’t scare him away. His expression turned to concern when he saw me, then he was there, picking me up and carrying me to the bed.
    He kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and we sat against the headboard while he held me and let me cry and talk about Dom and my impressions of the Parasites.
    “Feel better?” he asked when I went silent.
    “I do. Thank you. How about you?”
    “Embarrassed as hell. Where’s Eve?” Nick asked. “I was hoping you’d be bunking together so I could beat her.”
    “Her room’s on the same floor as Kyle’s, big surprise, but yours is two floors up.”
    “Eve’s influence, no doubt. Never mind, I’ll find my room first thing in the morning when I need a change of clothes.”
    I wiped my tears, loving the feel of being in Nick’s arms after so long, my big, sturdy fed with the colorful silk boxers hidden beneath the deceptive dignity of his black suit, though that dignity had been impugned tonight, and I should remember to treat him gently and not expect much.
    “I know that you’ve talked to the police and the FBI, Nick. What did Dominique die of?”
    Nick kissed my brow. “There’s no official medical examiner’s report, yet.”
    “Nick,” I begged.
    “The forensics investigation being over doesn’t mean the crime’s been solved, ladybug.”
    “How did she die, dammit?”
    “The police and the Feds combed the dressing rooms and stage last night, checking under every splinter for the diamonds or some kind of murder weapon.”
    “Whatever that might be,” I said. “Stop stalling.”
    Nick hesitated as if trying to choose his words while he swirled my hair around his finger.
    “It appears she died of anaphylactic shock. She had a fatal allergic reaction to something.”
    “Peanuts?”
    “Yes! They found traces in her bloodstream. I take it that was an issue?”
    “God yes. But that’s impossible. Dominique would never go near a peanut. She was so allergic that you couldn’t touch a peanut, then touch her because the imprint of your finger would welt up on her skin.”
    “That’s insane.”
    “Some people are that allergic. I know because she told me that Kyle did that to her once when he was a kid. He’d had a peanut butter sandwich at nursery school. After he touched her cheek, not only did she welt up, her throat closed and she was rushed to the hospital.”
    “So that’s why she had her own cook,” Nick speculated.
    It still didn’t make sense. “That doesn’t explain what happened to her face.”
    He stood and unbuttoned his shirt. “There were traces of peanut oil in the welts on her face, Mad, hence the swelling. So that’s how the poison entered, through her facial pores.”
    “What? She got splashed with peanut soup?”
    “I didn’t say it made sense,