“Why are you asking me?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” Nerves pumping, Peabody brushed at her hair. “And I got stupid hair day going. They fix that, right? They fix that sort of thing. Nadine hired Trina to do hair and makeup so…” Peabody trailed off, pursed her lips. “You look all good and everything today. Seriously up.”
Eve shook her head. Gray pants, white shirt, navy jacket over her weapon harness. What was the deal? “If we’ve finished our fashion consultation, maybe you could spare a minute for the damn financials.”
“Okay. What do you think about the earrings?”
Eve gave the silver drops a passing glance. “About you wearing them, or about me ripping them off and stuffing them up your nose?”
“Okay,” Peabody said again, and hotfooted it to the desk.
“The computer hasn’t popped out anything from standard searches,” Eve told her. “One more shot, then I’m thinking to pass it on to Roarke. He popped something straight out of the widow’s in about ten minutes last night.”
“He’s got the knack.”
“He popped Charles out.”
Peabody’s head jerked up. “Our Charles?”
“In a manner of. Ava’s been a regular bimonthly client of our favorite LCs for a year and a half.”
“Shit. We’re going to have to interview him.”
“We went over there last night. He is, as expected, coy about the details. We need Ava to clear him for that. But he did tell me that she was a referral.”
“If she was fooling around with a pro it might go to motive.”
“It might. Hitch is she wasn’t hiding it, at least not well. There were straight payments out of her personal debit account. No cover.”
As she considered, Peabody played with one of the short dangles at her ear. “So, she doesn’t think to hide the payments. The husband finds out, they go around about it. Fight, divorce is threatened. And she kills him, sexual overtones.”
“She was out of the country.”
“Right. Hired hit?”
“Too elaborate.” Just too damn fussy, Eve thought. “Unless, it plays out like that, and she hired someone who tailors the hit to the client’s specifications.”
“Fantasy Hits R Us.”
“There’s a way to make money, people find it. I’m going to go over her financials and have Roarke comb them. But so far, nothing’s popped there either. No suspicious withdrawals, no payments that don’t jibe.” She paced. “Good-looking woman. She’s got style, power. The sort that could talk a lover, if he’s stupid enough, into doing her dirty work for her.”
“But then if she had a lover,” Peabody pointed out, “why is she paying Charles five thousand a bang, twice a month?”
“Exactly, so…” Eve turned back. “How do you know what Charles charges a bang?”
“Ah.” Peabody fussed with her hair, pulled at the silver buttons on her suit jacket. “Maybe, being curious, I looked up his rates when we were sort of dating.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I can agree that if a woman’s getting strange for free, she’s unlikely to pay ten grand a month for a couple thrills. See what you can find.”
Moving away again, Eve pulled out her ’link to schedule an appointment with Mira, and to put a hold on an interview room.
“Ladies.” Roarke spoke from the doorway of their adjoining offices. “Peabody, you look ravishing.”
“I do?” She nearly squealed it. “But in a screen-friendly, trustworthy, public servant kind of way?”
“Yes, indeed. The color’s wonderful on you.”
“Jesus,” Eve said under her breath, and earned a mild stare from her husband.