Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(44)

“Exfoliant, and a brightening facial mask. Let’s get that canvas prepped first.”

Eve found the hair products Harvo and Dawber had identified, did a kind of running tab in her head as she found various items the killer had opted to use on Lauren Elder.

As she wandered, studied, calculated, she watched other people browse the aisle. Some just wandered as she did, others went directly to their choices. Others tried the screens, rejected or added the product to their cart or handbasket.

When she’d had enough, she looked back to see Peabody and the woman she’d taken under her wing exchange hugs before the woman strolled off with her cart and kid.

“That was fun!” Peabody bounced in her boots. “Londa and her husband are both teachers. She got pregnant on their honeymoon. They didn’t really plan it, but they decided to go all in. This is their first time out as a couple since Jonah was born, so they’re going to the Italian place where they had their first official date three years ago.”

“She told you all that, and bought all the stuff you said to buy, when she doesn’t even know you?”

“She was just looking for, you know, some backup.”

Eve considered that as she, very definitely, led the way out. “I only saw two males come into that section—one for hair junk, the other for some skin deal.”

“Oh, you get guys—it’s still more a female area, I guess, but—”

“I’ll bet you don’t see many males load up on everything, like your new friend did today. The skin and hair gunk, the face gunk, eye and lips gunk, the smelly stuff. A man who did would stand out some, because it’s not the usual. Somebody would notice your new friend, too, because she loaded up, and there’s the baby thing, but a man filling a cart with all those products would absolutely get noticed.”

“Oh, I get you.” Peabody thought it through as they crossed the street again. “So if he shopped brick-and-mortar, he probably didn’t buy everything in one place. A little here, a little there. Takes more time, but who’s going to notice some guy buying vitamins or cold meds and an eye palette or lipstick?”

“That screen thing you did. Can you do that online?”

“Sure, you just go to a site that has that feature and carries the products, call them up, virtually try them on.”

“How about a photo? Trying them on a photo?”

Peabody got in the car, strapped in. “Jesus, that would be smart. Get a picture of Elder—maybe in advance. Grab one off her social media, or take one yourself while you’re stalking her.”

“Use it to pick the products that most closely make her resemble the mother.”

“Sick and smart. He could’ve ordered everything online that way, or the bulk of it, hit a few other venues.”

“When we get the full list from the lab, we’ll search what sites carry all of them, with the try-on function. That’s a solid start. For the clothes, thrift stores, secondhand stores, vintage stores.”

She gave Peabody a brief rundown on Harvo’s report.

“He knows how to sew,” she finished.

“Well, not really. He knows how to repair. A seam.” Peabody traced a finger over her neck. “Or tack on a loose sequin, probably sew on a button. That’s just basic.”

“I don’t know how to sew on a button. Lots of people don’t.” If she’d known how, Eve thought, Roarke wouldn’t carry the gray button that had fallen off her suit the first time they met.

“It’s basic,” Peabody insisted as Eve zipped through the last light and made the turn into Central’s garage. “He’s good at repair—his stitches are precise. But making something’s different. Like that top? You can buy sequined fabric and sew a pattern that simple together in like an hour if you know what you’re doing. You dig it out of a thrift shop, the making one might cost more, but if it ended up in a vintage shop, you could make three for what it’ll cost you.”

Frowning, Eve pulled into her slot. “Why?”

“Vintage adds panache, quirk, and cost.”

“It adds panache, quirk, and cost to buy something somebody else got rid of—after they wore it—if they call it vintage instead of secondhand?”

“Yeah, if you’re talking about something from ago.”

Eve sat a moment, running it around. “He’s going to need another outfit, since Elder didn’t work out.”

She pushed open the door, kept running it as they crossed to the elevator. “Your grandmother dies—”

“Oh, don’t say that.”

“Not yours, Peabody. Somebody’s. And somebody’s grandmother has a bunch of clothes from back when. Where do you take them when you clean them out?”

“If it’s me—and it’s not me because my grannies are going to live forever—I keep something for sentiment, and/or offer something to friends or family who’d want a memento. Then I’d donate to a shelter.”

“You’d donate a spangly slut top and fancy-ass do-me shoes to a shelter?”

“Oh. Well.” Recalculating, Peabody got in the elevator with Eve. “If the clothes are in decent shape, somebody—not me—could sell them or put them on consignment at a vintage shop. Make a little money, or a decent chunk, depending.”