Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(61)

“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t changed it since.”

She pushed her way in, badged the first tech she saw and flashed Reinhold’s photo.

Tapping out there, they hit the next pawnshop, the next salon.

And Peabody stopped, pointed. “There. He could’ve stopped there for hair and face stuff. He’d have passed it.”

“True Essence? What is it?”

“A chain, but a pretty high-class one. Mostly above my pay grade unless they’re having a good sale. Enhancements, hair stuff, body stuff, bath stuff,” Peabody elaborated. “The works. The uptown one—on Madison—has a frosty little day spa attached. You can go in for a makeover, but then, well, if I do that I feel like I’ve gotta buy something. But the staff’s really helpful. It’s part of their rep. Solid and personal customer service.”

“Let’s see if they gave any of that to Reinhold.”

Eve didn’t understand places like this. The walls—all artily lit—the kiosks, the lower-level area—were all loaded with products created to enhance you, change you, transform you, or improve you. Skin, hair, face, eyes, lips, ass—there was even a whole section dedicated to throats and boobs, though they called it décolletage.

But she had to admit, the trim, stylish, and perfectly groomed staff didn’t swarm as they did in some places.

They were approached by one woman in classic New York black. The tall blonde with killer looks looked pretty normal to Eve’s eye. No spikes, visible piercings or tats, no explosion of odd-colored hair.

“Welcome to True Essence. Can I help you with anything this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Have you seen this man?”

Eve took out the photo, and since the blonde didn’t seem to be an ass**le, palmed her badge discreetly.

“Oh, that’s the man who killed his parents.” Instantly her voice went to stage whisper. “I saw him on the media reports. You’re looking for him?”

“That’s right.”

“I haven’t seen him, but I had the last two days off. Would you like to talk to the manager? I can call her out.”

“Appreciate it.”

“Sure. Give me a minute.”

“Oooh, look at this lip dye.”

“No,” Eve said flatly when Peabody snagged a sampler.

“Popping Pink. Who doesn’t want to pop?” Peabody squeezed some on an applicator, tapped it on her lips.

“Cut that out. You’re not a girl in here. You’re a cop.”

“I’m a girl cop.” And Peabody did a quick, agile turn toward eye crap.

Apparently, Eve noted, the managerial position required less normal. She watched the woman with plum-colored hair and silver brow studs clip her way over on high zebra-striped boots.

“I’m the manager. And you’re—”

“Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’re looking for this man.”

“So I saw on screen last night. Why do you think he came in here?”

“He was in this area, and he shopped in this area. We’re checking other venues.”

“I see. Do you know what he might have wanted, what sort of products he might have come in for? Frankly, I hardly see why a suspected murderer would shop for enhancements or body products. We’re hardly a den of iniquity.”

“You recognized his face.”

“I told you I saw it on the media bulletin last night.”

Put it together, sister, Eve thought, but spelled it out.

“I bet a lot of other people did, too. A lot of people who might recognize him if, say, he walked into a deli for a freaking bowl of soup. So being the suspicious type I figure he might have enough brains to change his hair color.”

“Oh.” The manager took a deep breath that projected both annoyance and concern. “We should move into hair then. Perhaps one of our stylists can help you. That’s a lovely shade on you,” she said to Peabody, with a much warmer smile. “You shouldn’t be without it. Should I have it held for you?”

“Oh, I … it does look mag.”

“No.” Eve cut them both off. “I think, I don’t know, just spit-balling, but we should spend our time here trying to track down a murderer. Hair?”

“Of course.” The smile faded, the eyes chilled. “This way.”

She wound through the kiosks, the shelves, the customers who, like Peabody, played with samples or loaded up silver baskets with products they figured would make them sexier, prettier, softer, smoother, younger.

Feeling Peabody’s attention wander, Eve bared her teeth. Peabody quickened her pace.

“Marsella? I’d like you to help these women.”

“I’d love to.” Marsella, her short, sharp cap of raven black edged with candy pink, beamed a welcoming smile. “What a stellar and interesting cut,” she said to Eve. “So few could pull that off. I have a wonderful product that would punch out your highlights. And I love the casual day-do,” she said to Peabody. I bet you’d look mag in hot curls for an evening bounce. The home-care kit is incredibly easy to do. And you could—”

“Fascinating,” Eve interrupted in a tone that said otherwise. “But we’re more interested in him.”

She flashed the photo of Reinhold, and her badge.