“No, it was Nina. But I remember, sure, I remember now because we bumped into each other behind the counter getting products for our clients and she said how this guy was buying the whole Artistry skin-care line—that’s who makes Youth. That’s a couple thousand, and a really good commission, so I took a peek thinking how I wished I’d snagged him instead of Nina.”

“But you hadn’t noticed him before or since.”

“No, ma’am.”

Eve took her through a few more questions, then asked to see Nina.

Nina’s memory wasn’t as keen as Letta’s. But when Eve moved from her t

o other clerks, she picked up just enough to be certain Yost dropped into Paradise once or twice a year.

“He’ll have other places, other cities,” she told Peabody when they were back in the car. “But on this same level. He won’t settle for less. Always cash, and he’ll know what he wants when he walks in. He pays attention to advertising, researches his products.”

“Watches a lot of screen.”

“Likely, but I’d bet this guy runs the product data on his computer. He wants a handle on the ingredients, the manufacturer’s record, the consumer endorsements. Let’s see what EDD can do about tracing that skin line backwards from last October when he made that purchase. He bought the whole ball of wax so that could mean he’d seen the ad, done the research, then decided to try it out. Artistry’s bound to have a site for consumer information and questions.”

She tried the luggage store next. None of the clerks recalled a man meeting Yost’s description buying the carry-on. But downtown, she hit gold, so to speak, with the silver wire.

The clerk had an excellent visual memory. Eve clued into this the moment she stepped up to the small display counter with its riot of loose stones, silver coils, and empty settings under the glass. The clerk’s eyes wheeled, his lips began to tremble. She heard his breath heave and initially feared a cardiac incident.

“Mrs. Roarke! Mrs. Roarke!”

His voice was heavily accented with what she thought might have been East Indian, but she was too busy wincing to worry about his origin.

“Dallas.” She slapped her badge on the countertop. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

“We are honored. We are unworthy.” He began to shout something unintelligible to one of his associates. “Please, please. You will select anything you want in our humble establishment. As a gift. You like necklace? Bracelet? You like maybe earrings.”

“Information. Only information.”

“We take a picture. Yes? We see you many times on-screen, and hope for the day you might come into our unworthy shop.” He piped something else to the young man who scrambled over with a miniature holo-camera.

“Hold it, hold it. Just hold it!”

“Your famous husband is not with you today? You are shopping, yes, with your companion. We will give also a gift to your companion.”

“Yeah?” Delighted, Peabody edged closer.

“Shut up, Peabody. No, I am not shopping. This is police business. Police business.”

“We did not call for the police.” He turned to the younger man busily taking holo-shots, let out a series of quick high sounds. The response was rapid, and accompanied by a fierce head shake.

“No, we did not call for the police. We have no trouble here. You would like this necklace.” He pulled one out of a long shallow drawer under the counter. “Our gift to you. We design, we make. You will honor us to wear it.”

Under other circumstances, Eve would have been tempted to just punch him to shut him up. But his dark eyes were shining with hope, and his smile was as sweet as a cocker spaniel’s. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m not allowed to accept. I’m here on police business. If I accept your gift, it would cause trouble.”

“Trouble for you? No, no, we want to give you no trouble. Just a gift.”

“Thanks very much. Some other time. You could help me by looking at this picture. Do you recognize this man?”

Confusion and disappointment drenched his eyes. He continued to hold the necklace up as he looked at the photograph. “Yes, this is Mr. John Smith.”

“John Smith?”

“Yes, Mr. Smith, he is a hobby—has a hobby,” he corrected. “To make the wearable art. But he buys no stones that we suggest. Only the silver wire. Two feet in length. Very specific.”

“How often does he buy his wire?”

Tags: J.D. Robb In Death Mystery
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