“Lots of big, bad cities out there.”
“None of them is New York.”
Thoughtfully, Eve studied the traffic jammed on the streets. Horns blasted in arrogant defiance of city ordinances. On the corner, a glide-cart vender shouted out colorful insults to the retreating back of a customer who’d obviously annoyed him.
“You got that right.”
“Well. Well. This is a very unusual request.”
The store manager dithered in her tiny office, where the single chair was covered in what looked to Eve to be a lot of scraps stuck together in a pattern that worshipped some demanding and possibly psychotic god of color.
She was a fortyish woman with apple cheeks and a constant smile. She continued to use it even as she stood wringing her hands together and looking confused.
“You do keep a customer list, Ms. Chancy?”
“Well, of course. Of course, we do. Most of our clientele repeat, and they appreciate being notified of specials and sales and events. Why, just last week we had—”
“Ms. Chancy? We just want the list.”
“Yes. Well, yes. Lieutenant, is it?”
“It sure is.”
“You see, I’ve never had a request of this nature, and I’m unsure how to proceed.”
“Let me help you out with that. You give us the list, and we say thank you for your cooperation.”
“But our customers. They may object. If they feel I’ve, somehow, infringed on their privacy, they may object, you see. And shop elsewhere.”
It wasn’t difficult, in the confined space, for Peabody to nudge Eve. “We can assure you of our discretion, Ms. Chancy,” she said. “This is a very serious matter we’re investigating, and we need your help. But there’s no reason for us to reveal to any of your customers how we obtained their name.”
“Oh, I see. I see.”
But she continued to stand, biting her smiling lip.
“What a beautiful quilt chair.” Peabody ran her hand over it. “Is this your work?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. I’m particularly proud of it.”
“I can see why. It’s exceptional work.”
“Thank you! Do you quilt?”
“A little. I do a little of this, a little of that. I’m hoping to make more time for my handwork in the future, especially since I’m moving to a new apartment shortly. I’d like to have it reflect my interests.”
“Well, of course,” Ms. Chancy said, enthusiastically.
“I noticed how well supplied and how organized your shop is. I’ll certainly be back, in an unofficial capacity, as soon as I’ve settled into my new place.”
“Wonderful! Let me give you our store information. We hold classes, you know, and have monthly clubs for any interest.” She plucked a disc out of a box covered with fabric daisies.
“Great.”
“You know, Lieutenant, handcrafting not only gives you the opportunity to create beautiful things that reflect your own style and personality while honoring centuries of traditions, but it is very therapeutic. I imagine anyone in your line of work needs to be able to relax and cleanse the soul.”
“Right.” Peabody swallowed the tickle of laughter at her field promotion by the shopkeeper. “I couldn’t agree more. I have a number of friends and associates who could use the same.”
“Really?”