She shifted between, pulled out her badge, wagged it in the street thief’s line of vision.
He sulked. “I ain’t do nothing.”
“Go do nothing somewhere else.” When he opened his mouth to protest, she smiled. “Or I’ll do something with what you’ve already got in your pockets.”
He said, “Cops is wheeze.” And he took off.
“Yeah, ‘cops is wheeze.’” Whatever the hell that means, she thought as she crossed the street behind the oblivious shoppers.
She’d expected Lilia Dominick’s office to be in an office building, but the address turned out to be a four-decker with three levels of apartments over a shawarma joint and a shoe repair.
The suite in Suite 201, Eve thought as she pressed the buzzer on the residential door, was obviously an upward spin.
The voice came tinny through the tinny speaker. “Yo.”
“Ms. Dominick?”
“Another yo.”
“Lieutenant Dallas. You spoke to my partner, Detective Peabody.”
“Right. Good timing.”
When the door buzzed, Eve pushed in, climbed the narrow stairs in the skinny entrance to the second floor.
Lilia Dominick wasn’t what she’d expected, either. She leaned on the doorjamb of her apartment, a woman about the same age as the cheerful optimist with the gleeful dogs. Strands of red hair bundled in a messy topknot over a friendly face slipped free as she gave Eve a casual sizing up out of pale green eyes.
“Mag coat. It shows off in person even better than on screen. I’ve seen you do interviews and media conferences. Come on in. I’m just back from yoga—was just heading back when your partner tagged me to tell me you were on your way.”
Which explained the sunburst skin suit covered by a flowy green topper. “I like to get a couple of real practices in every week when I can manage it.”
She gestured Eve inside a multipurpose living area cleverly sectioned off for each purpose by the arrangement of furniture. Screen-viewing area on one side, conversation area on the other, office in the back, and every inch rigorously neat.
“I appreciate you agreeing to talk to me so quickly,” Eve began.
“I’ve considered committing a crime to get a meet with you, but murder seemed extreme. I’ll get it out of the way by saying if you ever need someone to organize and coordinate for you, your calendar, your social engagements, your bookings—personal, not arrests—or assist with your entertainment obligations, I’d be all over it.”
She talked fast, a rat-a-tat-tat that came off as energetic as her smile.
“And with that, would you like some coffee? I have a small stash of real to go with the cookies my grandmother just sent me. We’ll never tell my yogi about either.”
“Sure.”
“Why don’t you come on back?”
Graceful in skids, Lilia walked back to where the living area became the office, made a jog to the left into a tiny kitchen.
“My grandmother bakes the best chocolate chip cookies in the tristate area. She could make a living,” Lilia continued as she programmed the little AutoChef, pulled out a couple of snowy-white mugs, crisp blue cloth napkins, a white dessert plate.
She put together an artistic-looking tray in about forty-five seconds.
“Before we sit down and dive in, I want to tell you I spoke to Lori. My first loyalty is to her and Ira, and if she’d asked me to evade, obfuscate, play dumb, even lie, I would have. But she didn’t. She liked you and your partner, and told me to give you full cooperation. So I will. She’s not just a client, Lieutenant Dallas.”
“Understood.”
“Okay, we’ll settle into the parlor, and have some coffee and cookies to help this very difficult subject go down easier.”
She carried the tray to the conversation area, set it on a table painted a glossy red in front of a pair of light gray chairs.