“It’s really nice of you to point that out now,” Peabody shot back with some bitterness. “And squirming does too help. Oh, thank all the gods and goddesses,” she breathed when they drove into Central’s garage.
“Free-Ageism pop out when your bladder’s full, Detective?”
“That’s not all that’s going to pop out.” Peabody bolted from the car the instant it stopped, and ran/waddled to the elevator.
In her office, Eve glanced at
her ’link, noted several messages. She ordered them to play while she set up a murder board for Elisa Maplewood.
As they ran, she ordered some to delete, some to save. Then stopped what she was doing to turn around and grin at the screen as Mavis came on.
“Hey, Dallas! We’re back in town, my honey lamb and me. Maui is just iced. Totally TPD—tropical paradise deluxe. Everything was mag. The concert, our roll-on-the-sand-naked vacation part. And guess what? The belly’s completely poking out now. Honest to God, I am so knocked up. You gotta see. I’ll jet by, soon as I can.”
Which was always a treat, Eve thought when the message ended. But if Mavis’s belly really was poking out now, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to see. Why pregnant women wanted anybody to see their poked-out bellies was another mystery, and one she had no desire to solve.
She turned to the AutoChef for coffee when Nadine Furst, Channel 75’s on-air ace, clicked on.
“Dallas. I know you’re going to give me the usual yaddah-yaddah blah, but I really want to talk to you re the Maplewood case. If I don’t hear from you, I’m just going to show up at your office. I’ll bring you a cookie.”
Eve considered. It might be smart to give a short on-air, especially with the bribe of baked goods. A brief one-on-one, and woman-to-woman. His profile indicated he hated and feared the female, so wouldn’t it burn his ass to be discussed on-screen by two women? It might push him into making a mistake.
She’d think about it.
The thought of cookies made her hungry. With a glance at the door, she reached behind the AutoChef, under the slight lip, and tugged off the candy bar she’d taped there.
It was an obvious hiding place to her mind, but it had foiled the insidious candy thief who plagued her.
She bit righteously into chocolate, dropped down at her desk, and engaged her computer.
YOUR AUTHORIZATION CODE AND PASSWORD ARE NOT RECOGNIZED. ACCESS DENIED.
“What the hell are you talking about?” She gave the machine a quick boot with the heel of her hand. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.” She read off her badge number for authorization, repeated her password.
The computer gave a cheerful little beep, then a long grinding buzz. The screen flickered.
“Don’t you start on me. First my vehicle, now this. Don’t you even start.”
ACKNOWLEDGED. OPERATIONS SHUTTING DOWN.
“No! Damn it, you bitch, you son of a bitching bastard whore, you know that’s not what I meant.” She smacked it again, set her teeth, and repeated the start-up process.
After a series of mechanical hiccups, it hummed.
“That’s better. Okay. Open case file 39921-SH. Maplewood.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.
What flashed on-screen wasn’t a case file. It wasn’t police business unless the various naked couples writhing in athletic and impressive positions were a bunch of Vice cops undercover at an orgy.
WELCOME TO FANTA-CEE! YOUR VIRTUAL GARDEN OF SEXUAL PLEASURE. YOU MUST BE TWENTY-ONE TO ENTER. YOUR DEBIT ACCOUNT WILL BE CHARGED AT THE RATE OF TEN DOLLARS PER MINUTE DURING YOUR ONE-WEEK TRIAL MEMBERSHIP.
“Mother of God. Computer, close and delete current area.”
INCOMPLETE COMMAND.
“Like hell. Close this file.”
ACKNOWLEDGED.