“Ha. I’ve got EDD working two separate searches, and don’t want to lay another on them. I ID’d the suspect and her location, but she poofed from there months ago. Ann Elizabeth Smith. I’ve got men in the field canvassing two locations, because she’s damn sure still in Brooklyn. I need a deep dive into her financials, and whatever shadow accounts she might have set up.”
“Poking into other people’s money is vastly entertaining. Will you work at home or Central?”
“Central, for now anyway. I’m heading for Dobb’s in Brooklyn first.”
“Going shopping then?”
“Well, they’re having a big shoe sale.”
“And there’s nothing you’d enjoy more. I’ll be at Central in an hour, an hour and a half latest.”
“Appreciate it. Gotta go.”
She spotted Dobb’s—a three-story, elegantly faded brick building with big display windows and a large brass plaque embossed with its name over fancy double doors.
She considered pulling into its underground lot, thought, Fuck it, and zipped into a no-parking zone, flipped on her on duty light.
“I’ll stick,” Callendar said from the back, “keep on this, unless you need me in there.”
“Stick.”
“I’ve never been in here.” Peabody climbed out, studied the window display of mannequins that appeared to be strolling over the deck of a cruise ship in flowy pants, sheer dresses. Another stretched out on a lounge chair in a bathing suit that cut down to the gemstone glittering in her navel while she held a tall glass topped with a pink umbrella. Everyone’s hair fluttered as if from an ocean breeze.
“It’s February,” Eve commented. “Why aren’t they wearing coats, sweaters, boots?”
“It’s February,” Peabody agreed. “That’s when rich people get out of the cold and go on cruises or to warm places. So cruise wear.”
“In New York, and that includes Brooklyn, it’s February.”
Eve pushed through the fancy doors.
She saw it coming, the three people in sharp black with maniacal smiles converging on her from three directions. Like a pincer movement on the battlefield.
All armed with spritzers.
“Any of you who sprays me with any of that crap is going to be arrested for assault.” She whipped out her badge. “Where’s Alterations?”
Two slunk away, but one stood firm—all six feet of her—in towering black heels that should have had her feet screaming in protest.
“Any of our consultants on the second or third floor can assist you with a fitting expert.”
“I don’t want a fitting expert. I want Alterations.”
The woman’s smile never wavered. “Any of our consultants on the second or third—”
“Never mind.”
Eve strode toward the glide. Behind her back, Peabody stuck out her arm, turned up her wrist, invited a spritz.
She sniffed at it as she hurried after Eve. “Too musky.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“I can smell you. You smell like you slept in somebody’s great-grandmother’s attic.”
“Yeah, too musky.” As she walked, Peabody rubbed her spritzed wrist on her thigh. “My mistake.”