Festive in Death (In Death #39)(18)

“What you tell your husband’s up to you,” Eve said. “Where were you between five and seven last night?”

“I was with Tilly. We were at the salon. We were at Ultra You. We had the works done. Hair, nails, facials, body treatments. All for Tash’s and JJ’s big party last night. I was at the salon with Tilly from one until seven. We had the full-bliss package.”

Six hours in a salon sounded like the full-torture package to Eve. “I need your friend’s full name and contact, and the name of your technicians.”

4

The streetlights had flickered on while they’d been inside the Quigley brownstone. She’d started the day in the dark, Eve thought, and would end it the same way.

“You think he slipped her something.” As she opened the car door, Peabody glanced back toward the house. “So do I.”

“I’m leaning that way, and leaning toward whatever it was he’d packed in the suitcase. Tea.” Eve got in the car, drummed her fingers on the wheel. “Something in the tea, and he decides to take a supply with him to the seminar. Either he had a target there, or he’d pick one that struck his f**king fancy.”

“And he targeted Martella Schubert because she was rich, attractive, vulnerable. And she trusted him,” Peabody added. “She felt safe with him.”

“Easier to roofie the trusting. She just blurted it all out,” Eve added. “If it went the way she says, he went to her home a couple weeks ago. The odds of us finding that out were slim, but she blurted it out.”

“I’d say she’s lousy at keeping secrets, but she kept this one from her husband.”

Eve edged out into the street. “Maybe she did, or maybe he found out, went over to Trey’s, and bashed him in the head with a trophy. If she kept it zipped, it’s because she convinced herself it was some Zen thing instead of cheating. I need to get a better sense of who she is, but my initial take is not so much dumb as gullible. She’s led a privileged lifestyle—the Quigleys come from money—and she married money. She took her husband’s name. That’s a bit old-fashioned, so I’m gauging her a romantic. Again, if it went as she said, Ziegler opened her up. He played the sympathetic ear, offered her a service—not sex. A service. And he comes with tea and incense.”

“It changes things—adds additional motive, and maybe suspects. With some luck the lab can analyze the hair strands you talked her into giving us.”

“If her timing’s true, and it’s only been a couple weeks, they can find Rohypnol or one of the compounds in the hair. Either way, we’ll know more when we get the results of the stuff in the baggie, the stuff in the locker. I should’ve put a rush on that.”

“It looked like tea in the baggie and it looks like incense cones in the locker. Fussy, but not especially weird for somebody to take their own tea on a trip. Not weird to find incense cones in a locker at a fitness club with massage services.”

“Maybe not.” Still she regretted tagging them low priority.

“But why would he do it?” Peabody wondered. “He had a girlfriend, another one ready to jump, and from what we’re hearing plenty of action from clients anyway. Why dose one to get some? She’d’ve paid him the money for the straight massage and sympathy.”

“Conquest. Ego. Practice—bigger pay when you add the ‘please be discreet’ money. Who the hell knows what goes on in the head of somebody so in love with his own dick? I’m betting he figured he was doing her a favor.”

Considering, Eve took a corner. “I’ll drop you home.”

“You will?”

“It’s on the way, basically.” And, she remembered, Peabody began and ended her day in the dark, too. “Check the alibi. It’s going to hold, but check it through.”

“It’s Trina’s salon. I can tag her, get the full skinny.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t tap the sister. She’s just his type, right? Just into her forties, plenty of money, really attractive.”

“Who says he didn’t?”

“Well, she did.” But now Peabody’s eyebrows drew together. “But yeah, she strikes as a better liar than little sister.”

“We’ll see. And we’ll run through the rest of the client list tomorrow. Martella Schubert’s not going to be the only one he dosed, if he dosed her. We can start working that angle.”

“He’s our dead guy,” Peabody said, “but I really hate when they’re f**kheads.”

“Being a f**khead’s a good reason to punch somebody in the face, not to cave in their skull.”

“Still, I wish he’d been a nice guy. On the other hand, then he’d be a dead nice guy, and you’d have to feel bad. So maybe being a f**khead’s better.”

“Just check the alibi, Peabody.” Eve pulled over to the curb.

“On it. Thanks for the lift. Hey, look at that hoodie!”

She pointed to a sidewalk stall and the virulent orange hooded sweatshirt with an animated hula dancer plastered over the front.

“That’s just perfect for McNab. A little from-Santa present.”

“Does he know Santa doesn’t exist?”

“Santa exists in the hearts of all true believers.” Face aglow, Peabody patted her own. “Can I borrow fifty bucks?”