Eve stepped out, but turned and laid her hand on the door to keep it open. "Keep your partner on a leash, and I'll consider it."
She let the doors close and walked to her parking slot. Her pea-green unit sat, dented, scarred, and with a bright yellow smiley face some joker in Maintenance had painted beaming out from the rear window.
It was probably a very good thing Eve didn't have that riot laser.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Eve hit the salon first and was pleasantly surprised when her vehicle made the trip without embarrassing her.
She'd walked through the doors of Paradise before, tracking another murderer, another sexual homicide. Another case that had involved Roarke. The first one, she thought, that had connected us.
It had been more than a year, but the opulent decor of the salon hadn't changed. Soft, soothing music played, harmonizing with the splashing waterfalls and drifting through the air delicately scented by the long sweeps and tall spires of fresh flowers.
Patrons sat or lounged amid the splendor of the waiting area, sipping tiny cups of genuine coffee or spring-hued glasses of fruit juice or fizzy water. The receptionist was the same bountifully breasted woman in snug, short red who had greeted Eve before.
The hair was different, Eve noted. This time around it was Easter egg pink and styled in a streaming fountain of curls that burst out of a high cone on the crown of her head.
Recognition didn't register in her eyes, but dismay and annoyance did the moment she spotted Eve's worn jacket, scarred boots, and shaggily styled hair.
"I'm sorry, we serve by previous appointment only in Paradise. I'm afraid all our consultants are fully booked for the next eight months. May I suggest an alternate salon?"
Eve leaned on the high counter, crossed her boots at the ankles. "You don't remember me, Denise? Gee, I'm really hurt. Wait a minute! I bet you'll remember this." Smiling cheerfully, Eve pulled out her badge and pushed it under the receptionist's expensively sculpted nose.
"Oh. Oh. Not again." Even as the words tripped out of her mouth, Denise remembered just who the cop had married since last they'd met. "I mean, I do beg your pardon, miss, I – "
"That's Lieutenant Miss."
"Of course." Denise tried out a lilting laugh. "I'm afraid I was distracted. We're so busy today. But never too busy to make room for you. What can we do for you?"
"Where's your retail section?"
"I'd be delighted to show you. Is there a particular product you have in mind, or are you just browsing? Our consultants will – "
"Just show me what you've got, Denise, and get me the manager of the area."
"Right away. If you'd just come with me. Can I get you and your associate any refreshment?"
Peabody spoke fast, knowing Eve would cut off any hope given half a chance. "I'd like one of those pink fizzy drinks. Nonalcoholic," she added when Eve gave her a baleful stare.
"I'll have it brought right in to you."
Retail was up a level, a short ride on a silver glide, and beyond a small oasis complete with pool and palms. Wide glass doors parted with a fluid little tinkle at their approach. On the other side, the retail area spread in an artful fan, with each spoke dedicated to a different form of beautification.
Staff here wore flowing red coats over snowy white skinsuits. And those were worn over perfect bodies.
Each display counter held its own mini-screen where simultaneous demonstrations were being shown on skin care, body toning, relaxation techniques, and emergency hairstyling.
All with lavish use, of course, of products sold on site.
"Please, feel free to look around while I fetch Martin. He oversees our retail service."
"Man, look at all this great stuff." Peabody edged toward a display of skin care with a dazzling arrangement of frosted glass bottles, gold tubes, and red-capped pots. "Fancy places like this give out great free samples."
"Keep your hands in your pockets and your mind on the job."
"But if it's free – "
"They'll just talk you into spending six months' pay on gunk to go with the giveaways." The place smells like a jungle, was all Eve could think. Hot, over-sweet, and eerily sexual. "It's got to be the oldest con in the books."
"I won't buy anything." She spotted one of the enhancement displays with all those fascinating colors. Girl toys, she thought. And yearned.
But all the color and flash was nothing compared to Martin.
Denise hurried out in front of him, clicking her three-inch red heels over the white floor, like a handmaiden before royalty. She didn't bow, but Eve was certain she thought about it before scurrying away and out the glass doors again.
Martin swept up, his long trailing cloak of sapphire brushing the floor, the skinsuit of silver beneath it sparkling over a long, muscled body. His pecs rippled, his biceps strained, his privates bulged.
His hair, as silver as his suit, was swept up from a sharply planed face in a complex arrangement of twists that were caught in sapphire cord and left to dangle down his back.
He smiled, held out a hand crowded with rings.
"Lieutenant Dallas." His voice was seductively French, and before she could stop him, he'd taken her hand and kissed the air an inch above her knuckles. "We're honored to welcome you to Paradise. How may we be of service to you?"
"I'm looking for a man."
"Cherie, aren't we all?"
"Ha. This particular man," she said, amused despite herself. She drew a hard-copy image of Yost out of her file bag.
"Well." Martin studied the photo. "Handsome in a brute fashion. The Distinguished Gentleman does not, in my opinion, suit his facial features nor his style. He should have been gently dissuaded from that purchase."
"You recognize the wig?"
"Hair alternative." And his eyes twinkled as he said it. "Yes. It's not one of the more popular styles as the gray is something most looking for alternatives wish to avoid. May I ask why you're seeking this man here in Paradise?"
"He bought the hair alternative here, along with a number of other products. May third. Cash. I'd like to talk to whoever waited on him."
"Hmmm, do you have a list of the products he purchased?"
Eve pulled it out, handed it over.
"Quite a lot for a cash purchase. As for the Captain Stud, much more appropriate for him, don't you agree? Just one moment."
He strolled off, showed the list and photograph to a brunette at the near skin-care section. She frowned, studied the papers, then with a nod, hurried away.
"We think we may know the consultant who tended to this customer. Would you prefer to use a privacy area?"
"No, this is fine. You didn't recognize him?"
"No, but I don't interact with customers unless there's a problem of some sort. Or unless the customers are, such as yourself, VIPs. Ah, here's Letta now. Letta, ma coeur, I hope you'll give Lieutenant Dallas your assistance."
"I'm sure." And there was just enough Midwestern twang in the voice to make Martin wince.
"You waited on the man in this photograph?" Eve asked, tapping a finger on the picture Letta held.
"Yes. I'm almost sure it's him. He's had a little sculpting around the eyes and mouth in the picture, but it's the same basic facial structure. And this product list fits."
"Was this the first time you'd seen him?"
"Well… I think he's been in before. But he wears different wigs – hair alternatives," she corrected, sliding an apologetic glance toward Martin. "And he varies his skin tones, eyes. He likes a lot of different looks. A number of customers – clients," she amended, shaking her head at herself, "do. It's one of the services we provide at Paradise. Varying your looks can vary your mood and improve – "
"Save the sales pitch, Letta. Tell me about the day he bought those items."
"Okay. I mean, yes, madam. I think it was early afternoon, because we still had some of the lunch crush. I'd spent a lot of time with a woman who had to look at everything we had in blonde. I mean everything, and then she ended up doing the 'I'll think about it' routine."