When she wheeled the cart in, Eloise and the nurse sat already deep into a game of Scrabble.
“Cannolis.” Eloise rolled her eyes. “There goes the waistline.”
“Not yours, Grand. I bet Donnalou worked you hard.”
“She’s a slave driver.”
Donnalou, a tiny woman with a quick laugh, just shook her head. “I can barely keep up with her these days. And she’s already hit me with a seven-letter word on a triple.”
“Then you both deserve a treat.”
“Sit down with us, Darla.”
“No, you two go ahead.” Darla bent over to kiss Eloise’s cheek. “I’ve got a few things to do. Keeping busy’s the best right now.”
“Don’t push y
ourself too hard, Darla,” Donnalou advised. “You look tired.”
“Don’t worry. I might take a lie-down while you’re here. We’ll see. Now, Grand, don’t you trounce Donnalou too hard.”
“No promises.”
Laughing, Darla got back in the elevator. And took it all the way down to her lair. Keeping an eye on the monitor and the Scrabble game, she checked to be certain the droid had thoroughly cleaned the floor, the restraints. And of course Lady Justice’s uniform.
She double-checked her supply of drugs. More than enough for one more, she decided, but she might need to send a droid out to score. Especially since Grand, thank God truly on the mend, would need a slightly stronger dose of the sleeping draught to keep her safe and dreaming through the night.
She’d send the droid she’d named Jimmy—mid-twenties, tough face with a small scar on the right cheek. He could meet the dealer later that night, refresh her supplies.
She imagined her own doctor would prescribe something to help her sleep—given the circumstances. But she really didn’t have time for that.
She needed to select the costume for the next scene.
13
When Eve walked back into the bullpen, Jenkinson’s new obscenity of a tie greeted her. When he signaled her over to his desk, she scowled at it.
“Why, I ask sincerely, would a grown man, a cop, a veteran detective of the NYPSD wear an atomic-green tie with screaming yellow rubber duckies all over it?”
“They’re not screaming, they’re quacking. And it’s what you call whimsy.”
“It’s what I call felonious assault on the eyes. Did you get the notes and names from Natalia Zula?”
“Yeah, we got ’em—and her daughter was home.” Though he sat and Eve stood, he managed to look down his nose at her. “She said my tie was mag. Just saying. You got the discs on your desk. And check it.”
He thumbed back toward Reineke, his usual partner. Obliging, Reineke hitched up his pants leg to reveal screaming yellow rubber duckies on atomic-green socks.
“Jesus, you’re coordinating now?”
“Just the luck of the draw,” Reineke claimed. “Anyhow, Zula and her kid were both cooperative. Some shaken up at the idea one of the group might be killing people. The kid wants her mother to come in, give you a thumbnail shrink sketch on the members. Mom’s conflicted.”
“She may have to get unconflicted.”
“They’re tight,” Jenkinson put in. “We got the feeling the daughter was going to work on the mom about it.”
“I’ll take that for now. Thanks for the assist.”
She went to her office and plugged in the disc.