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Her gaze sharpened now, and the warrior gleam still lit her face. ‘When people talk about Roarke’s cop over their cocktails and canapes, they say she’s a little scary, a little mean, and very relentless. Would that be a fair description?’ ‘Close enough.’ ‘Good. Good.’ Deann held out her hand, took Eve’s firmly. ‘Because you’re my cop now, too.’
‘Ah, there’s someone here who wants to speak to you.’ ‘Pertinent?’ ‘Well...’ ‘I don’t have time to chat.’ Eve turned around. ‘We’ll check in with Morris at the morgue, then head uptown. I have to be back here to meet with Mira.’ ‘Yeah, well, she’s very insistent. Claims to have information. She looks normal.’ ‘As opposed to? If someone’s come in with information regarding the current investigation, why didn’t you just say so?’ ‘Because—’ Peabody debated letting Eve find out for herself, or protecting her own skin. It was a short debate. ‘She says she’s a psychic.’
Eve sat, brooded. This is what happened when you went and made friends. They had to go out and make friends, and then those friends somehow insinuated themselves into your life, or your work. Before you knew it you were hip-deep in people. And half of them were crazy.
‘Sensitives aren’t necessarily witches, just as witches aren’t necessarily sensitives. Hey, a glide-cart!’ ‘Wait, wait!’ Eve pressed a hand to her temple, stared at the sky. ‘I’m getting a vision. It’s you stuffing a soy dog in your mouth.’ ‘I was going to go for the fruit kabob and perhaps a small, walkaway salad. But now you’ve put the damn dog in my head and I have to have it.’ ‘I knew that. Get me some fries, tube of Pepsi.’ ‘I knew that,’ Peabody replied. But she was too happy with the idea she’d actually get lunch to complain about paying for it.
He was lurking. Summerset was the universal champion of lurk. He stood in the foyer, bony in black, his snooty nose in the air and the fat cat at his feet. In Eve’s opinion, Roarke’s majordomo never missed the chance to give her the needle. ‘You’re earlier than expected, and appear to have gotten through the day without destroying any article of clothing. I must note this event down on my calendar.’ ‘Bitch when I’m late, bitch when I’m early. You could go pro on the bitching circuit.’
She lost the power of speech when she saw him, the reliable Feeney, with his fading vacation tan, his wiry ginger hair threaded with gray. His face was comfortably creased and droopy, but instead of one of the rumpled shirts he habitually wore, he was decked out in a stiff and spotless one the color of raspberry sherbet. And he had on a tie. A tie. The closest she could come to describing the color was what you might get if you electrocuted grass.
‘Jesus Christ, Feeney. What’re you wearing?’ The look he sent her was that of a man bearing up under a hideous emotional weight. ‘Wife said I needed to start wearing color. Bought this getup then hung over me, nagged my ears off until I put it on.’ ‘You look . . . you look like a manager for street LCs.’ ‘Tell me. Look at these pants.’ He shot out a leg so Eve was treated to the sight of that skinny limb wrapped in modified skin-pants in the same electric shade as the tie. ‘God. I’m sorry.’
‘I want you to call Requisitions, the minute we get back to Central. Beg, bribe, threaten, offer sexual favors of any nature, but get us a decent ride by the end of shift.’ Peabody had her teeth clenched and did her best to speak through them. ‘Who’s going to perform the sexual favors, should it come to that?’ ‘You, Detective. I outrank you.’ ‘The sacrifices I make for the badge.’
The computer gave a cheerful little beep, then a long grinding buzz. The screen flickered. ‘Don’t you start on me. First my vehicle, now this. Don’t you even start.’ Acknowledged. Operations shutting down. ‘No! Damn it, you bitch, you son of a bitching bastard whore, you know that’s not what I meant.’ She smacked it again, set her teeth, and repeated the start-up process. After a series of mechanical hiccups, it hummed.
My life used to be simple.’ ‘Mmm.’ ‘It did. Because it didn’t have all these people in it.’ ‘If you need to shove somebody out, you know, to simplify? Could you give Roarke the push? See, McNab and I have this understanding. If Roarke’s clear, I get to take my shot at him. McNab gets one at you.’ When Eve choked on the last swallow from the tube, Peabody gave her a helpful thump on the back. ‘Joking. Just sort of joking.’
She started it up, reversed around Nadine, and drove out of the garage. And immediately contacted Feeney. ‘I’ve got a tip.’ ‘Me, too. Let a smile be your umbrella and you’re gonna get your dumb ass wet.’
