Page 30 of Calculated in Death

“Hamster?”

“On the wheel. Go, go, get it done.”

“Something like that.”

“They’re all alibied up.”

“We’ll run the alibis through, but I expect they’ll hold. Mr. Body probably has the muscle to snap a neck, but he’d be too smart to use his own place for it. Maybe he, or Ingersol, wanted to flick a little dirt on Whitestone—a twofer—but they wouldn’t get their hands dirty. They’re serious suits.”

“But run them anyway,” Peabody said.

“You bet.”

“None of the three of them have a Cargo registered. Not in their names or the company name.”

“Check Newton’s finances, and their families, their family businesses.”

Once more she got behind the wheel. The boost of magic chicken soup wouldn’t last much longer, but she wanted to cover more ground.

“Let’s see if we can have a conversation with Mobsley.”

“Hot damn.”

“And try not to be a dick.”

“I know how to behave,” Peabody huffed. “I’m in a vid, you know. I’ve had a scene with vid stars. I’m going to a major premiere, and I didn’t have to score tickets. They were given to me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Come on, you have to be a little juiced. Mavis said the dress Leonardo designed for you is mag to the extreme.”

She remembered, vaguely, it was magenta—according to Leonardo who’d sided with Roarke when she’d said she already had fancy dresses, and why couldn’t she just wear black anyway.

“I don’t know why they have to make so much fuss over a vid. You go to it, you watch it, and eat popcorn.”

“It’s about us. Plus,” Peabody added slyly, knowing her target, “it’s really important to Nadine.”

Nadine Furst, ace reporter, screen personality, best-selling author—and, damn it, friend. No getting around it. “I’m going, aren’t I?”

“We’re going to look fantabulous, mix with celebrities—and we actually know them—and walk the red carpet. Like stars. I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Not in my vehicle. And right now, I’m just a little more concerned with who the hell killed Marta Dickenson than standing around on some stupid red carpet while people gape at me.”

Peabody wisely neglected to mention the pre-premiere prep she and Mavis had already worked out, which included hair and makeup by Trina.

Eve had Trina fear.

“What’s that look for?” Eve demanded.

“It’s my ‘serious about murder’ face.”

“Bullshit.”

“I am serious about murder,” Peabody insisted. And nearly sighed with relief when the in-dash ’link signaled.

“LT.” Detective Carmichael came on screen. “We finished the search at the vic’s residence. Nothing out of line. We went through the vehicle. Same deal. McNab went through their electronics, fine-toothed them. Nada.”

“Figured it. We’re working on a warrant for her office data, client list.”