Page 87 of Random in Death
“Seven.”
Eve got up. “It could be worse. Let’s go check out the losers and wheezes.”
Chapter Twelve
“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.”
Satisfied, Eve tolerated the crowd until they reached the garage. “Plug in the stores geographically. Both murders were downtown, but that’s likely because the events were. Still, we’ll start there.”
In the car, Peabody started the program. “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.”
“The first one’s on Broadway.”
Even Eve recognized how the franchise earned its sarcastic name after the first round. Aunt Janes and harried parents with snarly preteens made up the bulk of the customer base. The teens joining them seemed mostly interested in the cheap accessories—jewelry, sunshades, hair ties.
Music banged and boomed over the sound system while clerks shuffled along to refold stock heaped on display tables.
Signs, a forest of them, screamed FIFTY PERCENT OFF! SUMMER SALE! BUY TWO GET ONE FREE!
She got her first close-up look at the Kick Its. Yeah, she thought, he had blisters.
By the fourth stop, a post-Urban building in Midtown on Sixth, her head banged and boomed like the music, the same loop in every store.
“This is billed as their flagship,” Peabody told her. “It’s the biggest. Shoes and some activewear downstairs. Kids—like toddler to tween—upstairs. Everything else on the main.”
“We’ll try the shoes first. I notice you’ve yet to let out with one of your girlie squeals or longing sighs over any of the available merchandise.”