Random in Death (In Death, #58)

by J.D. Robb

In New York, the carelessly rich and the quietly desperate breathed the same air.

“Nothing you could’ve done, once he put that needle in her arm, would’ve have saved her. That doesn’t just come from me, but from the chief medical examiner. But because of you, she didn’t die alone.”

“What the hell is a dooser?” Eve demanded. “Oh, a cross between a dick and a loser.” Eve considered. “That’s a good one. Do I need to know weeb and tots? The rest was self-evident.” “No, but basically boring or awkward for weeb and tots are slutty types.”

“Big no from the parental shield on that, which pissed her off. She wasn’t a wheeze or a weeb or a tot or a flaker or a bruiser.” “What language are you speaking?” Roarke asked as he approached the gates. “Teenage.

“What the hell is a cocotte?” “It’s a pot. A French cooking pot. I bet Summerset’s got one. I want it for my fabulous kitchen, but it’s like nine hundred dollars, so— Eve stopped dead. “Nine hundred dollars? For a pan?” “A pot. A French pot.” “Does the price include going to France to buy it?”

She swung into Homicide, and even with her mind elsewhere had to wince at Jenkinson’s tie. Today’s offering had what she thought might be magic wands scattered all over a bloodred background. Each one shot a different glittery stream of color. “LT.” He signaled her, forcing her to move closer to the eye burn. “My esteemed partner and I . . .” He trailed off as Detective Reineke hiked up his pants leg to show off the white rabbit peeking out of a magic hat. “Sweet color-blind Jesus.”

“Let’s go, Peabody. Detective Sergeant.” Jenkinson looked over, sent her a grin. “Lieutenant, sir!” “Watch the kids while I’m gone.” “As always.” Peabody waited until they were out of earshot. “I actually like today’s tie.” “Don’t make me hurt you,” Eve warned, and took the glides down.

“You’d think a little rain ranked as one of those biblical plagues, like, what is it, locusts.” “Or water turning to blood.” “That’s ridiculous.” Wasn’t it? “That’s a plague?” “It’s a popular one. One of Egypt’s ten, and one of the seven predicted in Revelation.” “How do you know this stuff?” “Oh, just things you pick up.” “I’d put them right down again,” Eve decided. “We have to deal with enough blood without worrying about it spurting out of the shower.”

They’re really cute together.” In the elevator, already squeezed in with other cops, Eve turned to Peabody. “Put that in my head, I’ll kill you in your sleep.” “I don’t sleep at Central.” “I’ll break into your apartment.” “McNab’s right there with me.” “I’m a cop, for Christ’s sake. I’ll kill you, quick and quiet, then plant evidence that implicates McNab. You’ll be dead; he’ll be in a cage for life.” “It could work,” the uniform crowbarred in behind them speculated. “Oh,” Eve said, “it’ll work. And after I allow a single tear to slide poignantly down my cheek at her memorial, I’ll go home and drink an entire bottle of celebrational wine and never, ever think about what a pair of teenagers are doing with and to each other.” “I just said ‘cute,’ ” Peabody mumbled. Eve swiped a finger across her throat. “Quick and quiet.” “Our floor.” The uniform muscled by her. “Use a knife out of their kitchen.” “Of course. Who’s cute now?” Eve demanded. “Nobody.” Peabody hugged her elbows. “Absolutely nobody will ever be cute again.”

“Just FYI, if I die of a slit throat in bed, there’s a whole elevator full of cops who’d point at you.” “Which is why I’d wait until you got up, then bash you over the head with your fancy French cocotte.” “It’s cast iron. That would do it. I’m still buying it.” “Your funeral.”

“Have kids, they told me. They’ll fill your life with joy and adventure. Your heart will swell with love.”

“It’s twenty bucks every time I swear in multiples on shift.” “I’d need a beggar’s license in under a week.”

Baxter gave Trueheart a pat on the back. “Let’s get you home, young man.” “We’re heading downtown. You’d be the first stop. Pops.” “Getting a sassy mouth on him. You hear that?” On a wide smile, Baxter squared his shoulders, puffed out his chest. “Makes me proud. Tomorrow, LT. Thanks for the lift, Roarke.”

He removed the domes on what turned out to be frittatas. Colorful ones, she noted, sure to contain lots of healthy things. “What’s the deal you’ve got with spinach? Do you own the world’s supply of it?” He poured her another cup of coffee. “You’re a slender woman who all too often works herself into the ground and neglects eating during her workday. Iron matters. There’s bacon in there as well.” She swore she saw Galahad’s ears twitch at the word bacon.