Whoever it was would top her list of suspects. She just had to get there.
RED SHOES, she wrote on her notes, then grabbed her coat, headed out.
“Peabody, with me.”
“Nothing hinky in his financials I can find,” Peabody said, scurrying to keep up. “He lived close, but not because he spent a lot on food and lodging. It’s all clothes, skin care, body and hair services, that sort of thing. He spent on himself, his appearance. No major deposits or withdrawals. A lot of charges, but in the areas I said. He ends up with a lot of late fees, but he eventually pays.”
“So, it’s all show and self-indulgence. And sex.”
“Sort of like a licensed companion without the license.”
“Not bad, Peabody.”
Eve risked the elevator, wondered who had had the bright idea to pump in holiday music in a cop shop. And how she could punish them.
“He could’ve started charging for sex on the side, but I don’t care how good he was, nobody’s worth that kind of scratch inside a few weeks. A client could get a good, experienced, safe LC for a reasonable rate. But blackmail’s another thing. Threaten to tell a spouse, maybe.”
“Shortsighted,” Peabody commented as they reached garage level. “You’d for sure lose the client if you blackmailed her, then you lose the commission and any chance for more.”
“Some people only see the right now, and end up killing the golden duck.”
“Goose. The golden goose.”
“Duck, goose, what’s the difference? They’re both weird-looking birds.”
“Did you ever play Duck, Duck, Goose?”
Eve pulled out of the garage, into traffic. “Did I ever play with ducks and goose—geese? Why the hell would I?”
“No, the kids’ game, where you sit around in a circle, then one kid walks around, tapping the other kids on the head. She says, ‘Duck, duck,’ until she taps one and says, ‘Goose.’ Then that one, the goose, chases her around the circle, tries to catch her before she gets to where the goose one was sitting. If she doesn’t catch her, she goes around the circle.”
Eve stared out the windshield. “That has to be the dumbest-ass game of all dumb-ass games.”
“It’s kind of fun when you’re six. We had roast goose when we went to Scotland to visit McNab’s family over Christmas,” Peabody continued, obviously caught in a theme. “It was really good. We’re doing the quick in and out shuttle this year to see my family. It’ll be soy and tofu and lots of veg, which doesn’t compare. But my granny will bake, a lot—and that makes up for everything. She makes the most incredible mincemeat pie.”
“I thought your guys didn’t eat meat.”
“Mostly they don’t. Mincemeat isn’t meat.”
“Then why do they call it meat?”
Peabody sat a moment, baffled. “I don’t know. Maybe it used to have meat, but my granny doesn’t make it like that. It’s all kind of fruit and spices and I think some whiskey or something. I have to ask for the recipe now. I like making pies.”
Holiday shopping had infected downtown. With all the shops open, hyping gifts everyone had to have, parking became more challenging. Eve beat out a mini for a second-level space by punching vertical and zipping up and in with a couple of coats of paint to spare.
“Jesus, Dallas, warn me next time. Look there’s a bakery. Bakeries sometimes have hot chocolate, and always have pastries. I had a simulated egg pocket from Vending. It was worse than it sounds. A lot worse.”
“Later,” Eve said and arrowed straight to Natural Way.
It was a quiet little place, homey, with what Eve thought of as Free-Agey, foresty fairy music playing softly.
It smelled of cranberries, and a little pine, a hint of cinnamon. And, indeed, she saw the daily special drink was some sort of cranberry-cinnamon tea.
A few people sat at tiny tables drinking out of mugs the color of stone or eating what looked to Eve like grass and berries, or in one case a muffin that resembled tree bark.
The countergirl offered a dreamy smile. “Welcome to the Natural Way. What can we do for your body, mind, and spirit?”
“You can get the owner.” Eve held up her badge.