She gave him credit for taking a good look. Cops and bartenders, Eve thought. They knew how to make people.
“Nope. She the one got pulled in here?”
“Nope. She’s the one got dead a couple days ago.”
“Hey, hey, hey!” His rheumy eyes finally showed some life. “Nobody got dead in my place. Some might mix it up a little now and then, but nobody gets dead.”
“How about this one? You know her?” She offered Zana’s ID.
“No. Jesus, she dead, too? What’s the deal?”
“What time does the dance studio open?”
“Like eight. Closed on Monday, though, thank Christ. Nothing but noise otherwise.”
* * *
“He’s not in it,” Peabody said when they stepped outside.
“Nope.” On the street, Eve studied the building, the ground-level door, the exterior. “Easy enough to pick out. Locks were crappy, security crappier. Minimal skill required to get in.”
She scanned the pedestrian and street traffic. “Midlevel risk to get her in. Guy quick-walking with a woman, her head’s down. Who pays attention? She’d drummed up a little spine, makes some noise, resists, maybe she shakes him off.”
“Small-town girl, big city, dead mother-in-law.” Peabody shrugged. “Not surprising she went along, especially when he gave her that little stick.”
“Sloppy, though, whole thing’s sloppy. Stupid on top of sloppy. And you’re hitting for two million when, as far as you know, the well’s a hell of a lot deeper. Chump change.”
“You’re jaded.”
“Yeah, so?”
“No, I mean about money, if you can call two mil chump change.”
“I am not.” The insult went deep. “You’re in for two, then you get bloody. Stakes go up when there’s blood, and you ask for more. Smalltime, it’s small-time. Has to be another reason he took Trudy out.”
“Lover’s quarrel, maybe. No honor among thieves. Maybe she was trying to cut him out.”
“Yeah, greed always works.”
Her ‘link beeped on the way to the car. “Dallas.”
“Complications?” Roarke said.
“A few.” She filled him in. “You’re on for ECC status if you want and can fit it in.”
“I’ve a few things to deal with I’d rather not shift, but I’ll touch base with Feeney. I should be able to work on it a bit at home this evening. In the company of my lovely wife.”
Eve’s shoulders automatically hunched together, particularly when she noted Peabody looking her way with fluttering eyelashes. “My day’s pretty packed. I’m going to go by the lab now… No, shit, meet first, then lab. Gotta do some media spinning, so I’m tagging Nadine. Appreciate the assist if you manage it.”
“Not a problem. Squeeze some food into your schedule.”
“I’m having lunch with Nadine at some stupid place.”
“Scentsational,” Peabody told him, leaning over enough to get a glimpse of his face on the ‘link screen.
“Well, now, the world’s full of surprises. Let me know what you think of it.”
It only took Eve a beat. “Yours?”
“A man’s got to keep his hand in. I’ve a lunch meeting myself. Try the nasturtium salad. It’s very nice.”
“Yeah, that’s going to happen. Later. That’s flowers, right?” she asked Peabody when she ended transmission.
“Edible ones.”
“In my world, flowers aren’t on the menu.”
* * *
Apparently they were in Roarke’s world. They could be sampled, sipped, and sniffed, all in one elaborate setting where the tables rose up on graceful stems and bloomed in a garden of colors.
The air smelled like a meadow, which Eve assumed was supposed to be a good thing.
The floor was some sort of green glass, translucent so the flowers thriving below shimmered in a sophisticated garden. There were various levels, up trios of steps. An arbor arched over the bar, where diners could order flowery or herbal drinks as well as the more pedestrian wines.
Nadine sat at a table near a little lagoon where golden fish swam among water lilies. She’d done something to her hair, Eve noted, straightening its usual waves and fluffs so it was sleek, streaky rain angled around her face.
She looked sharper, somehow honed, suited up in pansy purple. She wore an earpiece, and spoke softly into it between sips of something very pink and very frothy.
“Gotta go. Hold everything for the next hour. Yes, everything.” She tugged off the earpiece, dropped it into her purse. “Isn’t this a place? I’ve been dying to come here.”
“Your hair looks absolutely mag,” Peabody told her as they sat.
“You think? First time I’ve taken it for a spin.” In the way of women, Nadine combed her hand through the angled ends. “I’m trying it out.”
A waiter, decked out in leafy green, poofed beside their table like magic. “Welcome to Scentsational, ladies. I’m Dean, and I’m your server today. Can I get you a cocktail?”
“No,” Eve said even as Peabody’s eyes brightened. She kept hers bland as Peabody’s dimmed. “Got Pepsi?”
“Of course, madam. And for you?”
“Can I get what she’s got?” Peabody gestured to Nadine’s drink. “Virgin.”
“Absolutely.”
“Fantastic party the other night, by the way,” Nadine began when the waiter went off to fill the order. “I’m still recovering. Didn’t have a lot of time to talk to you then, and I didn’t think it was the right time and place for what I need to talk about. So—”
“Hold that, will you? I’ve got something going, and I need some spin.”
Nadine’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve got a hot one already? Why haven’t I heard?”
“Female vic, skull cracked, hotel room on the West Side.”
“Mmmm.” Nadine shut her eyes a minute. “Yeah, I got some wind on that. Tourist, bungled break-in. What’s the big?”
“I found the body. I knew her. It wasn’t a burglary gone wrong.”
“Let me get this down.”
“No, keep it in your head. No record, not now.”
“You never make it easy. All right.” Nadine sat back, gestured with her glass. “Shoot.”
Eve gave her the basics, quick and pointed. “The department feels it would be in the best interest of the investigation if my connection, however slight, with the victim was made known straight off. I’d appreciate some…” She couldn’t think of the right word. “…I guess delicacy. I don’t want big drums banging about the whole foster business.”
“I won’t, others might. Are you going to be prepared to deal with that?”
“Not much choice. The point is—and the point that should be banged is—a woman was murdered, police are investigating. Evidence indicates that the victim knew her assailant.”
“We do a one-on-one, you can put it in your own words. Get your face out there while you do. The public hasn’t forgotten the Icove business, Dallas, believe me. Seeing you, hearing you, reminds them. Oh yeah, there’s that cop who busted those crazy doctors. And when I wrap the story with that tag, that’s what they’ll focus on more than your negligible connection to a recent murder victim.”
“Maybe. Maybe.” Eve paused as their drinks were served and the waiter began his litany of the day’s specials and chef’s recommendations.
Because the descriptions were long and rapturous—Jots of “infused with” or “scented with” and “delicately swathed in”—she tuned him out and turned over Nadine’s suggestion.
“Give me the pasta thing,” Eve said when it was her turn to order. “How soon can you do the one-on-one?”
“I’ll get a camera, do it right after lunch if we cut the meal a little short. I need to skip dessert anyway.”
“All right. Good. Thanks.”
“You’re always good for ratings. Speaking of which, mine are currently through the stratosphere. One of the things I wanted to discuss with you. I had the front line with the Icove story—thanks—and I’m raking in the offers. Book deals, vid deals, and the big one, for me… Drum roll, please,” she said while her face lit up. “…I’m getting my own show.”
“Your own show!” Peabody all but bounced on her seat. “Wow! Mega-wow! Congratulations, Nadine. This is beyond uptown.”