Holiday in Death (In Death #7)(14)

“Doesn’t look like you wasted it,” Peabody muttered.

“We’ll run the pin through the computer. I’ll see if Feeney’s got time to do a trace.”

“What did you buy?”

“Just something for Mavis.” She caught Peabody’s pout as they walked through the doors. “Don’t worry, Peabody, I’ll get you something.”

“Really?” She brightened immediately. “I’ve already got your present. It’s wrapped and everything.”

“Show-off.”

Cheered now, Peabody hopped into the car. “Want to guess what it is?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you a hint.”

“Pull yourself together. Start running the names you got on the Santa suits, see if you get a hit on anyone with a sheet.”

“Yes, sir. Where are we heading?”

“Personally Yours.” She sent Peabody a sidelong glance. “And you’re not doing any shopping there either.”

“Spoilsport. Sir,” Peabody added dutifully and began to run the names on her hand unit.

In the heart of midtown, towering over Fifth Avenue in polished black marble, was a palace of pleasure. The exterior was a sleek spear ringed on the upper floors with gilded balconies and silvered glides. Sheer glass tubes slid up and down at the four corners of the compass.

Inside there were salons for body sculpting, mood enhancement, sexual orientation. Without leaving the premises a client could be buffed, polished, molded, remodeled, or sexually satisfied in the manner of their choice.

Several gyms were outfitted with the newest equipment for those who preferred a little do-it-yourself. For those who chose a more passive road to fitness and beauty, licensed consultants were available to wield laser and toning tubes to rid a client of those pesky extra pounds and inches.

One floor was dedicated to the holistic approach, which included everything from chakra balancing to coffee enemas. As she scanned those particular offerings, Eve wasn’t certain whether to laugh or shudder.

Mud baths, algae scrapes, injections of the placenta of sheep raised on Alfa Six, tranquility sessions, VR trips, vision adjustments, face-lifts, tucks, and morphs — all could be done on the premises, with a number of package deals offered.

Once your body and mind were perfected, you were invited to explore the possibility of finding the right mate for the new you with the trained staff of Personally Yours.

The firm encompassed three floors of the building, with its staff uniformed in simple black suits with small red hearts embroidered on the br**sts. With the path of beauty on the doorstep, attractive faces and bodies were every bit as much a part of the dress code.

The lobby area was done in Grecian temple, with small musical ponds glinting with the flash of goldfish, and white marble columns decked with trailing vines separating areas. The seating arrangements were low to the tiled floor, cushy and plentiful. A check-in desk was discreetly tucked between fanning palms.

“I need information on one of your clients.” Eve held up her badge and watched the receptionist’s eyes flicker with nerves.

“We’re not allowed to give out client information.” The woman bit her lip and brushed her fingers over the tiny heart that was tattooed under her eye like a pretty red tear. “All our services are strictly confidential. We guarantee to protect our clients’ privacy.”

“One of your clients isn’t worried about privacy anymore. This is police business. I can have a warrant transmitted in about five minutes, or you can give me what I need and avoid having the department go over every file.”

“If you’d just wait a moment.” The receptionist indicated the closest seating area. “I’ll get the manager for you.”

“Fine.” Eve turned away as the receptionist slipped on a headset.

“It smells great in here,” Peabody commented. “The whole building smells great.” She took in a deep sniff of air. “They must pump something through the air vents. Nice and soothing.” She settled her rump on one of the golden cushions near a tinkling fountain. “I want to live here.”

“You’re annoyingly chipper these days, Peabody.”

“The holidays do that to me. Wow, look at that.” She swiveled her head, her eyes lighting appreciatively as a man with a stream of streaked blond hair swaggered in. “Now, why would a guy who looked like that need a dating service?”

“Why does anybody? It’s creepy.”

“I don’t know, could save time, trouble, wear and tear.” Peabody leaned forward to look around Eve and keep the man in view. “Maybe I should try it out. I could get lucky.”

“He’s not your type.”

Peabody’s face clouded exactly as it had when Eve had rejected the perfume. “How come — I like looking at his type.”

“Sure, but try to have a conversation with him.” Eve dipped her hands in her pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Guy’s in love with himself and figures every woman who gets a load of him has to go moony-eyed — just like you’re doing. He’d bore you to death in ten minutes because all he’d talk about is himself — how he looks, what he does, what he likes. You’d just be his latest accessory.”

Peabody considered, watching as the gold-tipped Adonis posed at the check-in counter. “Okay, so we won’t bother to talk. We’ll just have sex.”