“We believe she may have those skills, whether it’s a job or a hobby. If she submitted her book, she likely did it at your publisher.”
“I don’t think that happened. They’d have notified me after Mom sent them the letter if they’d gotten a manuscript from that name.”
“Okay. We’re reading through the books, getting a sense of the story, and particularly of the first victim and killer in each. But it would be helpful if you could send me, we’ll say, a kind of profile on those characters, a basic outline of the crime scenes.”
“I can and will. I know what you mean.”
“Good. I’m going to give you the same instructions I did yesterday: Don’t open the door to anyone you don’t know. Nobody comes in the house you don’t know. If you see anything or anyone that makes you uncomfortable, contact your local police, then me.”
She paused, studying DeLano’s face. “I’m going to add: If beefing up your personal security makes you feel safer, then do that.”
“I’m going to. My mother, my girls aren’t in the books, but they’re part of me.”
“We’ll get us some bodyguards.” Audrey added a little shoulder shake to try to lighten her daughter’s worry. “Good-looking ones.”
“Mom.” DeLano laughed a little, then sighed. “You’ll stop her,” she said to Eve.
“Let’s say I intend to write the ending.”
Eve showed them out, went back to her office to add to her notes.
Minutes later, her interoffice signaled.
“I’ve got Loxie Flash in A,” Peabody told her. “Do you want me in there?”
“Keep at what you’re doing. I’ll take her.”
She wound her way back.
Loxie Flash fit the physical description of the third victim well enough. Had a few more pounds on her, wore her hair longer, but gave off the same vibe.
The fuckhead vibe.
In the book, Bliss Cather had—in the last hours of her life—spiky hair of the palest blond tipped with black. Plenty of piercings on both, though Cather had gone for an eyebrow bar and the live-and-in-person Loxie chose what Eve thought of as a bull ring, a hoop studded through the tender dividing line of the nostrils.
A lot of tats, plenty of heavy makeup. The skin shirt proclaimed BALL BUSTER over a pair of impressive, unharnessed breasts. Jeans, held together with lacing at the hips, showed a lot of skin.
Loxie curled her lip, spoke with a raspy verbal sneer. “What the fuck’s your damage, bitch?”
“Lieutenant bitch.” Eve sat. “And I’m here to tell you a story that might save your life. There’s a woman out there who may be thinking about killing you.”
“Shit. Bitches don’t want to kill me, assa-hola. Bitches want to be me.”
“Not this one, maybe because she’s crazy.”
Loxie curled her lip in an arrogant sneer. “Crazy don’t stop my sleep none.”
“This one’s about five-six, white. Red hair with blue side dreads. She’ll have a tat of an orange dragon on the inside of her right wrist. She’ll try to look about twenty-five but she’s older.”
“Old bitches are boring.”
“She’s not. You’ve seen her around, places you hang out, places you party.”
“I see a lot of people.”
“Any of those people look like the person I just described?”
Loxie shrugged. “If they ain’t on my team, I don’t pay them much mind. Look, Bitch Badge, I gotta sleep. Had a big night.”