Memory in Death (In Death #22)(75)

my investigation is closed."

That did the trick. While she waited, she checked in with Baxter.

"What's the status?"

"They're making up for lost time. I think we've walked five fricking miles. And it's spitting some wet snow."

"So button up. What are they doing?"

"Shopping mostly. Just bought a little tree after looking at all the little trees in the borough of Manhattan. They're talking about heading back, thank the tiny baby Jesus. If anyone's tailing them but me and my faithful sidekick, I'm a monkey."

"Stick with them."

"Like glue."

In Midtown, Baxter shoved his communicator back in his coat pocket. On his earpiece he heard Zana talk about lunch. Should they buy some dogs and stay out a while longer? Or go drop off their things, have lunch at the hotel?

"Hotel," he mumbled. "Go to the hotel. The one with a nice warm coffee shop across the street."

Trueheart shrugged. "It's nice being out. Being able to see all the decorations. The snow just adds."

"You kill me, kid. It's thirty degrees, windy, and this snow is more like sleet. The sidewalks are jammed, and we're walking the soles of our shoes thin. Shit. Damn it. They're going for the dogs."

"And glide-cart coffee." Now Trueheart shook his head. "They'll be sorry."

"And now she's window-shopping. Typical female. He's got to haul the bags, buy the dogs, juggle it all so she can sigh over a bunch of sparklers they'll never be able to afford."

"If they're blackmailers they can."

Baxter gave Trueheart a look of pride and approval. "Now that's the kind of cynicism I like to hear.

Take the point, move on the cart once he's got his dogs. Order up a couple. It's crowded. Hard to keep a visual going. I'll hang back in case she talks him into going in the store."

Baxter eased right, toward the buildings, and caught a glimpse of Zana looking over her shoulder, smiling as Bobby came over, balancing food and packages.

"I'm sorry, honey!" She laughed, took one of the bags, one of the dogs. "I shouldn't have left you with all that. I just wanted a peek."

"You want to go in?"

She laughed again. "I can hear the pain in your voice. No, I just wanted to look. I wish I'd thought to wear a hat, though. My ears are cold."

"We can go back, or we can buy a hat."

She beamed at him. "I'd really like to stay out just a little while more. There's a place across the street."

"The one we walked by to get to this side of the street?"

"I know, I know," she said with a giggle. "But they had hats and scarves. On sale. You could use a hat, too, honey. Maybe a nice warm scarf. And I just can't face that hotel room again right now, Bobby.

I feel like I've been let out of prison or something."

"I know. I guess I feel the same way." He shifted the bag holding their tree. "We'll go buy hats. Then we could walk over, watch the skaters, get another look at the big tree."

"That'd be just perfect. What makes a soy dog taste so good when it's cooked outside on a cart in New York? I swear you can't get a real grilled dog anywhere on the planet outside of New York."

"Pretty damn good," he agreed around a bite of it. "Especially if you don't think about what's in it."

Her laugh was light and blissfully happy. "Let's not!"

When they got to the corner, squeezed in by the crowd, he managed another bite. "I didn't know I was so hungry. Should've gotten two."

They made it to the curb. He started to step out, when Zana gasped. His fingers closed over her arm like a vise.

"I spilled my coffee, that's all. Damn."

"You burned?"

"No. No." She brushed at the stain on her coat with her hand. "Just clumsy. I got bumped a little. Gosh, I hope this doesn't stain. Oh, now we missed the light, too."

"There's no hurry."

"Tell that to everyone else," she murmured. "People weren't pushing so much, I wouldn't have coffee on my coat."

"We'll get something and—"

He pitched forward, straight into the path of an oncoming cab.

The bag he held went flying. The last thing he heard before he hit the pavement was Zana's screams and the shrill shriek of brakes.

* * *

While Eve waited for the room to be cleared and the sweepers to arrive, she ran a check on Trudy's debit and credit statements. The charges and withdrawals had just been put through. Spent a few bucks on Friday at the drugstore, she noted. Time stamp confirmed that that came after the socks, after the bank.

Lining up your ducks.

Market, too.

What happened to the bags?

As she was working out a theory, her communicator beeped.

"Dallas."

"We've got a problem." Baxter's face held none of its usual sarcasm. "Male subject's been hit by a cab, corner of Fifth and Forty-second."

"Well, Jesus Christ. How bad?"

"Don't know. MTs are on-scene. Wife's hysterical. They were on the sidewalk, waiting for the light.

I had them on audio, Trueheart had a reasonable visual. But the corner was packed. He only got a look at the guy doing a header into the street. He got clipped pretty good, Dallas, I know that. Damn near run over. I got the cabbie here."