Page 16 of Framed in Death (In Death #61)

She spotted Zola Messner across the street, one hand on the hip of a dress that looked more like body paint. Since she didn’t see Diego Quint, Eve figured he either hadn’t clocked in yet or was already with a customer.

Chumbley and Varr gave each other some space, but stood close enough to toss around some conversation, some comments.

Chumbley eye-fucked Roarke, and went: “Mmm-mmm! Baby doll, whatever you want, twenty percent off. Twenty-five if you lose No-Tits.”

“That’s Lieutenant No-Tits,” Eve said as she pulled out her badge.

“Well, shit. What you want to roust me for? Got my license right here. I’m working, and cops scare the johns away.”

“Also working. Leesa Culver?”

“Who?”

Eve took out her ’link, brought up the ID shot.

“Oh, Pissy-Ass. What about her?”

“She’s dead.”

“That shit happens.”

“Was she working last night?”

Varr walked over on glossy black shoes with two-inch platforms and five-inch heels. “You said Pissy-Ass is dead? No shit? Did somebody get tired of her pissy-ass ways and bash her one?”

“No. Somebody strangled her. Was she on the stroll last night?”

“Yeah, yeah.” That came from Chumbley with a shrug.

“My associate and I, we make it clear she stays that end of the block. Always trying to horn in on our customers, so we make that clear.”

“Try to be friendly at first, right?” Chumbley added. “We’re all just making a living here. She’s talking how she’s better than the street, better than us, and she’s gonna make high-class in no time. Pissy-ass bitch.”

“Did you see her pick up a customer? Leave the block with him?”

“Can’t say I did. She took a couple into the flop right down there. We got a deal with the manager.”

“What time did you see her?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“She took that fat guy in, remember, Starlight?” Varr pursed her full red lips. “It was like eleven because I was heading out when she was heading in.”

“Sure, sure, Fatso. He’s a once- or twice-a-week regular of hers. Man, she can have him. He’s got a gut on him! You’d have to work ten minutes to get past it to give him a BJ. No way he’d strangle her. Besides, the manager would’ve let us know if he found a dead one in there.”

“She came back to the street?”

Now Chumbley frowned. “Yeah, yeah. She was back when I took one in later. Look, you’re costing us money here.”

Before Eve could stop him, Roarke pulled out two fifties.

“Now she’s not, is she then?”

“Ooh, I’m a sucker for an accent. Baby doll, the offer still stands.”

“It’s appreciated. Maybe you noticed when she wasn’t in her section.”

As the fifty disappeared, Chumbley pursed lips dyed somewhere between red and purple.

“I guess maybe, now that you put it that way, I didn’t see her later on, like after midnight or one. You said something, Monique.”

“Yeah, I did, right. I said how Pissy-Ass must’ve caught a live one. I didn’t see her leave, didn’t see the hookup, but I saw how she wasn’t down there, and wasn’t for a while. Wasn’t, now that I’m thinking, when we called it a night.”

Varr added her own shrug. “Look, truth? We won’t miss her, but none of us like hearing one of us got killed. We’re just out here making a living.”

“And someone may be targeting street levels. You’re making a living, but you’ve got to be alive to do it. Think twice before you agree to go with someone who’s willing to pay too much, who wants you to go somewhere other than your flop or when you get there wants you to wear a costume.”

“Costumes is extra.” Chumbley grinned with it. “But not for you, baby doll.”

“She’s yanking you,” Varr said. “We work the street, we stay on the street or the flop. She went off that way, she’s stupid. Pissy-ass and stupid.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Eve advised.

With Roarke, she walked down the block, gave the flop a quick study. “It didn’t happen there. Dead LCs are bad for business. Plus, he had the costume.”

She crossed the street to try Zola Messner.

“Pissy-Ass? I block her out. She tried taking my stroll once.” She smiled. “Didn’t try it again. Gives me this bullshit how she could make double what I do over here, and how she’ll be top level while I’m still scraping.”

She smiled again, fiercely. “Didn’t give me bullshit more than once.”

Diego Quint, obviously fresh off a roll, wandered over in his tight black muscle shirt and skin pants. He tossed back his luxurious hair. He didn’t eye-fuck Roarke so much as give him an I’ll-be-dreaming-of-you stare.

And said, breathlessly, “Hi.”

“Turn it off, sweets,” Messner told him. “He’s with the cop.”

“Oh.” A heavy sigh. “Heart shattered.”

“Pissy-Ass got herself strangled. Did you see her leave the stroll with anybody?”

He had liquid eyes that went sad as a kid with nothing under the Christmas tree. “Oh, that’s horrible. She was really kind of mean, but that’s horrible. Actually, I think it was about midnight, maybe a little later, I did—”

Messner held up a hand to stop him.

“You pulled off a couple of bills for Starlight and Monique. We’re all losing work time here. So?”

Roarke pulled off two more fifties.

“Thank you!” Quint looked at Messner, who nodded. “I did happen to see her walking down the block and across to the next.”

“Alone?”

“Oh, no. I noticed because she was walking with a man with a really nice caboose.”

“You kill me, Diego.” Monique laughed, gave him a friendly elbow jab. “‘Caboose.’ You kill me.”

“Can you describe anything other than his caboose?”

“Not really.” His forehead creased as he thought it over. “Ah, sorry, not really. I think… yeah. He was wearing a hat. He was a little taller than her. She had on four-inchers, so…” He closed his eyes, calculated. “Maybe he was like five-eight or -nine? Maybe. Not six feet anyway.

“I really go for the tall ones,” he added with another wistful glance at Roarke.

“Race? Skin color?”

“Ah, not like my Black Beauty here.” He sent Messner a sweet smile. “White or mixed or maybe Latino. I just noticed the caboose, and the excellent threads.”

“Such as?”

“Casual black pants and shirt. But casual like a man who can afford high-class casual. I didn’t see much because they were walking away.” He pointed. “Then a gentleman asked me for a date, so I gave him my attention.”

“That’s helpful.” She took out a card. “If anything else occurs to you, contact me.”

She gave them the same warning she’d given the others and noticed Quint seemed to take it more seriously than his associate.

“She went,” Eve began as they walked back to the car, “at the very least a block off her territory with him. Maybe he has a place close enough and private enough. But it’s mostly flops, apartments, dives unless you walk another block or so.”

She got in the car.

“Rich casual clothes—I bet Diego knows what he sees there. Rich guys don’t live on these couple blocks. He had a car. On the street, in a lot.”

“While this was all a fascinating interlude, I’d like to hear more.”

“Yeah, I’ll get to it. And now I have to add your two hundred on the expense account. More paperwork.”

“Why do you have to do that?”

“Because paying for information comes under expenses. You’re a civilian consultant, and it goes under expenses.”

“So strict.”

“Yeah, that’s me. I’m going to write this up as you drive, save time.”

She wrote it up, added the fifty times four, the reason for it. Made notes about the estimated height, the perception of expensive clothes.

As their own gates opened, Eve looked at the lights glowing, on the grounds, in the windows, and yes, some sparkling in trees.

It mellowed her mood again.

It wasn’t just good, it was everything to have home.

She said exactly that to Roarke.

“It is, yes. We might think about adding to that and doing a small garden.”

That jerked her out of her mellow mood. “Did you hit your head on something?”

“Again, there’s room, and it’s something Summerset might enjoy. He likes his fresh herbs and so on from the greenhouse. I might speak to him about finding the right spot for a few raised beds.”

“If you start talking about chickens, I’m hauling your Irish ass to an ER. Maybe to the psych ward.”

“Not chickens, no.” When he parked in front of the house, he reached over to give the dent in her chin a finger tap. “A bridge well too far for the likes of us.”

“Okay, just don’t expect me to wear some silly hat and start planting kumquats.”

“That would be a tree, darling.”

“Whatever they are, that’s a solid no.”

“It’s fortunate, isn’t it now, that’s a no we share.”

As they walked to the door, she looked at him. “I have to unlock the box again now.”

“Understood.” He leaned down, kissed her lightly. “Absolutely understood. I’d like to hear about the rest of the contents.”

“More fortunate.”

She hadn’t expected to find Summerset looming in the foyer, but there he was, the living skeleton in black with the cat at his feet.

Too bad he hadn’t taken Roarke up on extending his stay in Italy a couple of weeks more after his friend’s memorial.

“I figured you’d be ready to slide into your coffin for the night.”

“As it happens I’ve just returned from dinner with friends. And while it often amazes me you have friends yourself, how was yours?”

“It was lovely.” Roarke inserted before the exchange could escalate. “I hope you can get by to see it completed, and lived-in.”

“It happens I’m invited to dinner later this week. I look forward to it.”

“I’ve got work.” Eve headed for the stairs with the cat at her heels.

“I’ll be a moment.”

As she walked up, she heard Roarke.

“Would you enjoy it if we put in some raised garden beds next spring?”

“For vegetables? I see you’ve been inspired.”

Eve kept walking.

In her office, she went straight for coffee while the cat went straight for her sleep chair.

And since the night held warm, she opened the doors of the Juliet balcony before she started on her board.

She glanced over when Roarke came in.

“Why are they beds? The plants aren’t sleeping in them. I don’t think they’re having sex in them.”