Obsession in Death (In Death 40)

“A nest of rabid rats is swank compared to the underground.” Eve slid into traffic. “He’s more likely home this time of day than below, so we’ll check it. But we’re going to make another stop first.”

As it was still shy of nine, Eve tried Hilly Decker’s apartment first. The slapdash, post-Urbans triple-decker needed a face-lift, but it held its own in a neighborhood of struggling-to-claw-up-to-middle-income housing and shops.

Inside it smelled faintly of someone’s breakfast burrito. The inhuman wail of a baby rattled the walls of the first floor.

“Why do kids always make that sound? Like somebody’s stabbing them in the ear?”

“It’s about all they got,” Peabody told her. “Something hurts, they’re hungry or just pissed off, all they got is crying.”

“Strikes me they’re just pissed off most of the time.”

The sound eased slightly on the second level, or was drowned out more by someone playing a morning talk show at ear-thumping volume.

Eve banged a fist on 2-A.

No cam, she noted, no palm plate, but an electronic peep and good sturdy locks.

“Hold on, Mrs. Missenelli!”

The door wrenched open. Hilly Decker stood, one stubby-heeled half boot in her hand, the other on her left foot. She wore a black skirt and vest with a pale blue shirt under it. Several big silver clips stuck haphazardly through her brown hair.

Her eyes, the color of kiwis, popped wide.

“You’re not Mrs. Missenelli! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!”

She ran the words together into one hysterical squeal, dropped the boot, bounced up and down. “Oh my GOD! You’re Eve Dallas. You’re her. Here. You’re here.”

“We need to speak with you, Ms. Decker.”

“Oh my God, I just have to hug you.” As Hilly lurched forward, arms out, Eve put both her hands up.

“No,” she said, definitely.

“Right, right, sorry. God. You’re not a hugger. I know, I’m just so excited. Oh my God. My heart’s racing. You should feel my heart. Do you want to? No. Sorry. Oh my God.”

Peabody elbowed in. “Can we come in, Ms. Decker?”

“Oh God, yes. Please. I know you, too. Peabody! Is it just amazing working with Eve Dallas? Is it just like ultra-abso-mag?”

“I’m living the dream.” Somewhat concerned Eve might punch if Hilly lost her mind and tried for another hug, Peabody insinuated herself between them. “Maybe we could sit down.”

“Oh yeah, sure! Is the place a mess? It’s not too bad,” she decided, rushing around on one shoe, fluffing pillows. “It could be worse. It has been worse, especially when Luca was around. My ex?” She beamed at Eve. “Remember, I told you about him.”

“Sit,” Eve ordered.

“Okay.” Hilly sat, obedient as a puppy and twice as frisky. “I feel like I’m jumping out of my own skin, and . . .” She waved her hands in front of her face, blinking rapidly. “I promised myself I wouldn’t cry when I finally met you, and here I go anyway. This is just the best day of my life!”

“Where were you at six this morning?”

“What? Sleeping. Oh, I should get you coffee! I don’t have the kind you drink. I can’t afford it, but I tried it once just to see. It’s seriously ulta. I’ve got Pepsi, though. I can get you a tube of Pepsi.”

“Sit,” Eve ordered again when Hilly jumped up. “Were you alone—at six this morning?”

“Oh yeah. I haven’t been interested in anybody since Luca. After we broke up, I asked myself: What would Eve do? It really helps me to think things through that way. WWED! And I thought, Well, Eve would sit back, take some stock, just live life, you know?”

Radiating joy, she hugged herself.

“I was getting upset you never wrote me back, but here you are. Right here. I don’t know how many times I walked by Central and tried to drum up the courage to go in, see you. I just knew if we ever got the chance to just talk, we’d totally click. Like, you know, sisters.”