Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(62)

“Oh. Oh.” Marsella shot a wide-eyed—smoked lids, heavily kohled—glance at her manager. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you recognize him?” Eve demanded.

“Well, yeah. I don’t understand,” she repeated.

“How do you recognize him?”

“From yesterday, when I served him. I don’t—”

“Understand,” Eve finished. “What time did you serve him?”

“Um, um. He came in maybe around one-thirty. I’m not sure, but it was right after I got back from lunch.”

“I need your surveillance discs from yesterday. Open till close.” After ordering the manager, Eve turned back to Marsella. “Do you remember what you … served him?”

“Tropical Blond Hair Color, with a caramel lowlights add-on kit, Drenched shampoo and conditioner—color bond—the Master of Your Own deluxe styling kit.”

She rattled them off as if itemized in her head.

“He wanted other products from other sections, so I stuck with him, recommended the Sun Blast Bronzer—face and body in number four. Um … the Solie Quench, again face and body, and the Lightning Blue Eye kit by Francesco. He wanted the top of the line. I suggested he apply for the store credit service, which would give him ten percent off on his purchases, but he wanted to pay cash.”

She bit her lip. “I offered him the free consult, and recommended Aly do his eye change here on site for a very reasonable fee, but he blew that off. If done incorrectly, it can cause swelling or redness, but he insisted on pay and go. He signed the waiver, so if he had a problem, I don’t understand why he called the police.”

“Don’t watch much screen, Marsella? Don’t keep up with current events?”

“I’ve been pretty busy. My sister and her fam’s coming in for Thanksgiving, and I’m helping my mother … Why?”

“If you had I think you’d recognize him from media reports. His name is Jerald Reinhold, and he killed three people in the last couple days.”

“He—I—God!” Taking a quick step back, she slapped a hand to her heart. “Oh my God! He was right here, and I worked with him for at least a half hour. Am I in trouble?”

“Why would you be?”

“I don’t know. I sold him all those products. It was a really nice commission. I even did the comp morph to show him how he could look after using everything.”

Now Eve smiled. “Can you still call that up?”

“I—Yes! I can. I think. I just feel so … Can I get some water? I feel a little shaky. He seemed so normal. Kind of clueless and trying to act like he knew all about it. Oh, oh, he bought a piercing kit, too. I forgot.”

Pausing just a moment, she fanned a hand in front of her face. “He bought the A Hole in One kit, and a gold hoop from accessories. I forgot.”

Sympathetic—and impressed with her memory—Eve tried to calm her. “No, you didn’t, and this helps us a lot. Get your water, Marsella, take a breath, then show us the morph.”

“Thanks. I feel kind of sick. Who did he kill?”

“His parents and his ex-girlfriend.”

Her exotic eyes filled. “Come on! Not really.”

“Really. Let’s move it, Marsella.”

“Okay. Okay.” She scrambled away, wobbling some on her towering heels.

“Good call on this place, Peabody.”

“Jackpot.”

“I can’t figure out why he didn’t spread his purchases out, other venues, the way he did for the clothes, the tools, the selling his loot.”

“Because you don’t get the lure.” On a lusty sigh, Peabody turned a little circle, scanning with eyes full of reverence and desire. “If I could afford it, I’d spend hours in here. I wouldn’t be able to walk out without loading up—especially if one of the servers started priming me. I couldn’t resist.”

“Huh.”

“The music’s all pumping, the lighting’s bold. Sexy energy. Lots of it. All these products just saying how mag you’d look if you bought them. All these totally iced servers—male and female—telling you the same. Drop a couple thousand, and walk out a whole new you, a better you.”

“And people buy that?”

“I’m buying it right now, and arguing with myself. I could get the lip dye. I’m not spending anything on travel for Thanksgiving. I have enough lip dye. But I don’t have this fabo, uptown, new lip dye. It costs too much. It’s a personal appearance investment. I—”

“Got it. Shut up. Go push the manager on those discs,” she ordered as Marsella came trotting back with a tablet.

“Malachi Golde! That’s his name. I remembered after I got some water, calmed down.”

“No, it’s not his name, but that’s the name he gave you?”

“Yes. I asked him, for the morph, and that’s what he said. We keep them for a week, in case the customer comes back, wants something else, or says something didn’t work.” She tapped her way through. “See! See! Here he is. We have to take an as-is shot, and this is as is.”

“Yeah.” Eve looked into Reinhold’s smug, smiling eyes. “That’s as is. Show me the morph.”