Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(42)

“Tennessee,” Eve repeated. “It’s a long way from there to here.”

“Yeah, but that top made the journey.”

Something let out a tuneful series of beeps.

“That’s my girl!” Harvo zipped back to the other end of her counter. “Display it, baby. So here we go. Shampoo’s Pearl Drops, Ocean Breeze scent, same with the conditioner. That’s a drugstore type brand, and been around since the late twentieth. Styling gel, same era, Lowell’s brand, Super Hold, and same brand on the setting spray.”

Harvo spun her chair around to face Eve. “Decent, affordable, and widely available. Nothing special there, sorry.”

“Everything adds. How about the shoes?”

“Dezi the newlywed’s got the shoes. I got a gander, and he’ll give you more, but I’m gonna say the way back, like the jeans and top. Not designer level, either.”

“I’ll check with him. Who’s got the makeup?”

“That would be my man Dawber. I know he got started on it yesterday. Listen, I got a need for the fizz. His cave’s on the way to Vending, so I’ll bop you over.”

“Appreciate it. I didn’t know you were a baseball fan.”

“Not really.” Obviously baffled, Harvo cocked her head. “Why?”

“Forty-two.” Eve pointed at Harvo’s shirt. “Jackie Robinson’s number.”

“Oh, forty-two. No, man, forty-two’s the answer to all the questions in the universe. Hitchhiker’s Guide.”

While Eve pondered what hitchhiking, the number forty-two, and universal questions had in common, she recognized the clomp of Peabody’s boots.

“Yo, Peabody,” Harvo hailed her. “How’s it hanging in rehab land?”

“Hanging, boss. You have to come check it.”

“Gonna, been up past the ass the last days. Got the hair products and clothes ID’d for ya. Reports to follow. Heading over to Dawberville and makeup. Solid forensic chemist there. If he doesn’t have it nailed yet, it’s because of the past-the-ass deal.”

Peabody fell into step with them. “So, Douglas Adams fan.”

“Who isn’t?” Harvo responded. She made a turn, then another.

Then paused outside one of the mini-labs where a man with neatly cropped gray hair stood, hands on hips, as he studied formulaic data on a screen and muttered to himself.

“Hey, Dawb-man.”

He looked momentarily off-balance when Harvo took a step into his area. Then circled a finger in the air in a wait-a-second motion, cocked his head, said, “Let it rip, Ethel.”

He gave the screen a nod, turned.

He smiled, vaguely, at Harvo. “You brought me company.”

“Dallas and Peabody.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve testified in a few of your cases.”

Eve placed him. Veteran lab rat who did solid work that held up in court. He wore pristine white sneakers, pressed khakis, a pale blue collared shirt, with a white lab coat.

“You need the beauty products, the scent.”

“I explained about the past-the-ass.”

He offered them a quiet smile. “We have been very busy. But I have some partial results. I hope to have a full report by midday.”

“We’ll take whatever you’ve got now.”

“Of course.”

“I’m out. Gonna grab a fizzy. I can swing back if anybody wants.”

“You know my weakness, but no, thank you.”

Harvo grinned. “Dawber Rules. No food or drink in his cave. Cha, all.”

“If you’d just give me a—” He didn’t finish as something buzzed, snagged his attention. He walked to a counter screen, nodded, nodded, leaned down to look at something in a microscope.

“Yes, yes, yes, that follows.”

He straightened again. “Sorry. There are several products to identify. I’m fascinated you were able to smell perfume—actually eau de toilette. And preserving it helped, of course. There was only a minute sample, and very faded, but we have a match. It’s called Party Girl. Not a perfume but, as I said, an eau de toilette. Inexpensive as compared to a perfume.”

“Widely available?”

“Why, yes, indeed. According to my data there was a perfume form in the 1990s and into the early 2000s, but only the more moderately priced toilet water is currently marketed and is targeted, primarily, to teens and young adults, with its notes of bergamot, vanilla, and patchouli. Now I’ve just gotten the full breakdown on the foundation product—the full-face enhancement?”

He gestured to his counter screen. “It’s actually a tinted moisturizer—two-in-one—brand name Toot Sweet—a play, I suppose, on the French?” He shrugged, smiled.

“Drugstore brand?” Eve asked.

“Well, you would find it there, in the beauty section. In other venues as well. Ah, food markets, beauty supply shops, online, of course. It fits with the bronzer, which is the same brand, in their Sun-Kissed shade. The blush, however, is Betty Lou brand, in Pop o’ Pink.”

“Hey, that’s the first blush I ever bought. It was Peachy—the shade for me—but it was Betty Lou.” Peabody sighed a little in nostalgia. Then straightened when Eve stared at her. “Affordable. Accessible.”