Betrayal in Death (In Death 12) - Page 120

“I did.”

“A half-sandwich isn’t sufficient.” He glanced over as he heard voices. “Fine. We have company. You can have some soup while Mavis entertains you.”

“I don’t have time for—” She broke off, sighed. Mavis was already whirling into the room on six-inch platform slides that exploded with colored lights at every bouncing step.

“Hey, Dallas, hey, Roarke. Just ran into Feeney, and he said you were wrapped for the day.”

“Not really, I still have some stuff. Why don’t you play with Roarke while I finish up?” Her pleasure at the inspiration fractured when another woman, this one with twelve-inch coils shooting out of her head in screaming red, strolled in.

“Trina,” Eve managed, and her stomach clutched with dread.

“We came by to give you the scoop and poop up close and personal,” Mavis announced. “Trina got the line on the products and all, like you asked me. Right, Trina?”

“Right, and right down the line.”

“That’s great.” It’s going to be okay, Eve thought. It’s just business. “What have you got?”

“Tell her, Trina. Oh, wine! Roarke, you are total.” She plunked her pretty butt in its crotch-shot skirt on Eve’s desk and beamed at him as he handed around glasses of wine.

“Okay,” Trina began. “You got your Youth supercover foundation, burnt honey tone, your mocha, same product. You can get them at any high-end department store or salon. Then you got your unisex powder, in both loose and compact. He went for Deloren there—that’s mostly sold in salons and spa centers, ’cause it’s too pricey for the regulars.”

“How many spots in New York?”

“Oh, two, three dozen easy. He’s got fine taste in enhancements. Cheek color’s are Deloren, Youth and a nice rose quartz from Salina. The eye stuff—”

“Trina, I appreciate all this, but can you fine it down to whichever products you tagged that have limited distribution? Any stuff in there only sold wholesale maybe?”

“I’m getting to it.” Trina curled her lips, currently painted vampire black. “Here’s a guy who likes to experiment with enhancements, and isn’t afraid to pay top dollar. Gotta admire that. From the looks of the video, he took the basics, and a few fancies. He keeps them all organized, so I could deduce . . .”

She held on to that word a moment, savoring

it. “I could deduce he favors Youth and Natural Bliss. NB’s hypoallergenic, all natural, and costs two left arms. Can’t buy it over-the-counter. Can’t get it unless you’re a licensed consultant. Salon use only, not for resale. So this guy either has a license or a source ’cause he’s got some of those salon-use-onlys in his drawer.”

As did she, Trina thought smugly. “Happens I get it from Carnegy Enhancement Supplies on Second Avenue when I’ve got a client who can pay the fee.”

She paused, sipped. “And it happens I took the trouble to call my pal there and ask her, on the quiet, about her customers for the products your guy had, or I figured were missing from the drawer. She said it was funny I should ask, ’cause she just got in an order for those exact products from one of her regulars. A big bald guy who comes in once or twice a year and picks up a supply. Pays in cash. Says he’s got a salon in south Jersey.”

Eve got slowly to her feet. “Did he pick up the order?”

“Nope. Coming in for it tomorrow, before noon. Told her to have it all put together as he was pressed for time. Ordered twice his usual, too.”

“Roarke, get this woman some more wine.”

“We did good?” Mavis asked, bouncing.

“You did fantastic. Trina, I need the name of your pal. I need her cooperation.”

“Fine by me. But I got a question. How come you insult me?”

“Insult you? I was about to kiss you.”

“How come you don’t take care of my work? Look at you.” Trina aimed a finger, tipped by a one-inch sapphire nail. “You look like something dragged under a maxibus. Skin’s all tired, circles under your eyes.”

“I’ve been working.”

“What’s that got to do with it? You can’t take five minutes twice a day to show some respect for my work? When’s the last time you used that exfoliant I gave you, or the pump lotion, or the stress repair?”

“Ah . . .”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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