Eve got coffee while Trina mixed color from three different tubes on a white square. She applied the blended color with a brush. Stepped back, tilted her head in a way that had Eve wondering why the piled-up tower of red-swirled black hair didn’t tumble off her head.
She squeezed something clear onto another square, used yet another brush, and painted it over the lip color.
Eve couldn’t see any difference.
Working briskly, Trina smooshed yet another brush into almost invisible powder, swirled it over Nadine’s entire face, snatched up a bottle of something, and spritzed what looked like a vapor over that.
She said, “Check it,” and whipped the cape away.
In her somber yet stylish black suit, Nadine studied herself in the glass. “Trina, you’re a genius.”
“Fucking A.”
“We can do the setup in my office,” Nadine began, but Eve simply shook her head.
“Badge first. What was your relationship with Mars?”
“Oh, for Christ’s crying sake.”
“I need to clear some decks, Nadine. I’m going to give you what you want, but I need what I need.” She flicked a glance at Trina. “You don’t have to be here.”
“Yeah, I do.” She held up another cape. “Sit, and I’ll deal with your hair while you get what you get.”
“No.”
Trina tipped that hair-heavy head again. The tower stayed firm. “I do it here and now or I come to your place and give you a full treatment, which anybody with eyes can see you could use.”
Just as Eve feared. “I’m working.”
“You’re working and that’s talking and you can talk sitting on your ass.”
“Oh, sit down, for God’s sake.” Nadine threw up her hands. “A trim and shape isn’t torture. And neither of us has time to waste.”
“So you say,” Eve muttered. “I’m going to ask questions. You might not want the person who paints up your face to hear your answers.”
“About Larinda Mars?” Nadine’s snort didn’t fit her serious-reporter image. “Please. I’ve got absolutely nothing to hide, from you, from Trina, or anyone.” To prove it, Nadine took another seat. “You need what you need, I need what I need. Sit down and give Trina what she needs, and we’re good.”
Eve didn’t like it, but she sat, as the idea of Trina wheedling into her house—and she damn well would—equaled a lot worse.
She immediately felt ridiculous when Trina whipped the cape over her. “Your relationship with Mars,” Eve repeated, balking when Trina picked up a bottle and started spraying the contents on her hair. “What’s that? Why? Stop it!”
“Do you want to ask me questions or ask Nadine questions? It’s just water.” Trina rolled her eyes, currently royal purple framed in thick black lashes tipped with red.
“I didn’t have a relationship with Mars,” Nadine began. “We worked in entirely different areas. I never worked with her, and we didn’t drink from the same pool.”
“Not entirely true,” Eve corrected, trying to ignore whatever was happening to her hair. “She was gossip—a lot of that drank from the celebrity and entertainment pools. You joined that pool with the book and the vid. And you’re up for a whatsit.”
“Oscar.”
“Why Oscar? Why not Harold? Or Tod?”
“There’s an actual answer for that, but I’ll skip it because you have a point on the other.” Nadine swiveled her chair Eve’s way. “I gave her a couple of interviews attached to the book, and the vid, along the way, as it was to my advantage, and because I’m a good soldier. The station wanted it. But that’s not a relationship.”
“You’d have been at some of the same events, parties.”
“Yes. We didn’t really socialize. I didn’t like her, if that’s what you’re after. She’s dead, and I’m sorry, but I don’t like her any more now than I did when she was breathing.”
“Why?” She asked for form, for procedure. Eve knew Nadine well enough to understand just why.