Abandoned in Death (In Death, #54)(72)

“Follows. I’ll tag Trina first, ask where you’d get them. I don’t know if salons sell the kits to regular people.”

“Had to be in the last few days. Had to be. Elder’s nails…” She opened the car door, pushed her mind back to her board. “On the short side, neat and even because he’d manicured them after he killed her. Hobe’s were longer. Not crazy long, but longer, because he was working with the fakes, had more to work with. So it’s not the length, it’s the look.”

Tuning out Peabody’s conversation with Trina, she drove through building traffic.

She parked again, and Peabody continued to talk as they got out of the car.

“That’d be great, big help.”

“No prob for me.” Trina’s voice popped over the noise of downtown. “Catch that murdering bastard, Peabody. And tell Dallas—I know she can hear me—she’s overdue for a trim. And it’s been weeks since her last facial. You get one freaking face, so you gotta take care of it.”

Eve kept walking.

“You bet. See you at the house maybe this weekend. Cha, Trina.”

As she had before, Eve bypassed Berenski’s station and headed straight for Harvo’s.

Purple still ruled the day, but Harvo married it with candy pink in baggies with purple cuffs that folded inches above her ankles and showed off purple high-tops with pink laces.

She sucked something from a jumbo go-cup through a straw and waved them in.

“Figured I’d see you. Pushed this through as soon as my ass hit the chair. Easy one, as I already had the baseline from Elder on the hair products. You got the same deal with your new vic.”

Because she’d expected it, Eve nodded, hooked her thumbs in her belt loops. “How about the clothes?”

“I’m kinda scooping on the skirt. Old-timey, sure, but it’s got some zing. It’s ninety-five percent cotton, with three percent spandex, two viscose. Little bit of stretch, see? The embroidery’s machine done, polyneon thread. That’s for the shine and color pop. Size small. I’m working on reconstituting the label. It’s mostly faded out, but I should be able to get you a brand.

“Top’s ninety-two rayon, eight spandex. Snug and stretchy. I took a quick gander, and back in the day, these would’ve been easy to come by without much of a sting.”

“Relatively inexpensive, easily accessible.”

“And recently laundered, same deal there. Size small. Label’s Looloo, which—another quick gander—was a store brand for AllMart. They’re still going strong—every fricking where in the ’burbs and such—but they killed the Looloo line in 2009.”

“That’s good data, Harvo, and fast work. Thanks.”

“That’s my rep. Gotta keep it. Do you need me to show you where to find Dawber and the Dezi?”

“No, we got it. Thanks again. Vintage shops,” Eve continued as they walked. “We keep pushing on those. It seems to me both outfits were in too good condition to have ended up in a down-market thrift store or flea market sort of thing.”

She paused at Dawber’s area, where he sat studiously working on a comp. Eve rapped her knuckles on the doorframe.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she began.

“Not at all. I’m just sending you the completed report from Victim Elder. There were so many products, you see, and shades.”

“Understood. Have you started on Anna Hobe?”

“Only just. I’ve been running some analyses while I complete this report. Just let me…”

He swiveled around, gave his chair a little push to send it to another work space. He swiped at the screen, entered some sort of code on the keyboard. Then made unintelligible noises as he studied the screen.

“All right, yes, there we are. The two-in-one tinted moisturizer. The same brand as Elder, and, yes, the same shade. It seems—ah—I see. We have a concealer—Toot Sweet brand again. Found under the victim’s eyes, and along the left cheek beside the nose. A scatter of broken blood vessels, you see, from the morgue photo Dr. Morris provided.”

“Used to cover them?”

“Yes, indeed, to cover minor flaws, and some dark circles under the eyes.”

“Stress, not sleeping well.”

“Ah, possibly, yes, but I couldn’t confirm something like that. I’ll analyze the other products.”

“I need you to give the nail priority.”

“The nail?”

“The fake fingernail sample. I need that at the front of the line.”

“Oh, all right.” He looked a little nonplussed. “I generally complete a category, but I can interrupt the facial enhancements.”

“Do that. I need everything you can tell me about that sample as soon as you can.” She throttled back on the tone. “You and Harvo make a good team.”

“Oh, she’s just brilliant, and so charming. You don’t always find those two qualities in one person.”

“Guess not. We appreciate your work, Dawber.”

“And I yours, of course.”

Eve backed out, aimed for the shoe guy’s area. And found Berenski, hands on hips, in the doorway.

His eyebrows beetled together over the beady eyes in his egg-shaped head. The mustache he’d decided to grow looked like a smooshed caterpillar over his tight, turned-down mouth.