Celebrity in Death

“Don’t change your routine because of this. That’ll get me wired and worried. Besides, if you don’t keep up with your predawn quest for world financial domination, how are you going to keep me in coffee? If you slack off, I’ll have to find another Irish gazillion-aire with coffee bean connections.”
    “That would never do. I’ll continue my quest if you promise to tell me when they come.” Gently, he trailed his hand over her hair. “Don’t keep them from me anymore, Eve.”
    “Okay.”
    “And since it appears the very core of my happiness rests on your addiction to coffee, I’ll get you some.”
    “I won’t say no, but I’ve got to get moving. I’m meeting Peabody at Asner’s place. I want to hit his apartment early before he gets out.”
    “Asner?” Roarke said as he rose and walked to the AutoChef.
    “The PI.”
    “Ah, yes. A light breakfast then.” The cat bumped against his legs, wound through them. “For some of us.”
    She got up, knowing he’d try to pamper her into taking her coffee—and possibly the light breakfast—in bed. She took the mug from him, knocked some back.
    “I’m going to grab a shower,” she told him. “You’d better catch up on the world domination.”
    “I’ll get right on that, after I feed the cat.”
    He did so while she went for the shower. Then, drinking his own coffee, stood by the window.
    Careful with each other, she’d said. Yes, they were just now. And it looked as if they’d need to be for a little longer yet.
    S he felt like herself—maybe even just a little better due to the magic coat—when she drove downtown. She left the windows down so the brisk air could slap her cheeks, pleased that the ad blimps had yet to start their hyping lumber in the sky, and the snarl and piss of New York traffic could rage on without the blast from above.
    Too early for blimps, too early for most tourists. It felt like New York nearly belonged to New Yorkers. Glide-carts did their morning business, heavy on the soy coffee and egg pockets. Maxibuses burped and farted their commuters to the early shift or breakfast meetings while those on foot clipped along or swarmed the crosswalks like purposeful ants.
    She had a plan, and it started with cornering A. A. Asner. Charges of breaking-and-entering, criminal trespass, electronic trespass, accessory to blackmail—to start—and the threat of losing his license and livelihood should make him talk like a toddler on a sugar high.
    She’d bargain some of that against him turning over the original recording—and all copies, as well as spilling any and all data he had on K.T. Harris, her movements, her intentions, her meets.
    If he hadn’t done some research on Harris, some shadowing, she’d eat her new magic coat.
    And to cover bases, she’d requested a warrant for both his home and offices, citing his business with the victim.
    She expected to get it.
    She settled for a second-level spot a block and a half from Asner’s apartment building. Decent neighborhood, she noted. Better than what he’d chosen for his office. Packs of kids shuffled down the sidewalk, heading for school, she imagined, some of them herded by parents or nannies. Their chatter piped through the air as most headed along the sidewalks in what she assumed was the latest kid fashion of mid-calf boots with soles thick as a slab of wood.
    Those who didn’t shuffle, clumped.
    A woman in overalls hefted up the safety grill on a small market. She shot Eve a smile.
    Fresher weather, Eve thought, fresher people.
    She enjoyed the walk, promised herself she’d get in the solid workout the preshift visit to Asner had postponed until the evening.
    She spotted Peabody coming from the opposite direction in kind of a quick march. The cowboy boots Roarke decided Peabody had to have from Dallas flashed sizzling pink with every stride.
    The stride hitched, and Peabody’s mouth formed a stunned O. Instinctively, Eve laid a hand on her weapon, checked behind her, but Peabody was already dancing—the only word that fit—down the sidewalk.
    She said, “Ohhhh,” and reached out.
    “Hey. Hands off.”
    “Please. Please, please, soooo pretty. Lemme just have one little touch.”
    “Peabody, isn’t it embarrassing enough you’re wearing pink cowboy boots, again, without standing here drooling on my coat?”
    “I love them. Love, love my pink cowboy boots. I think they’re going to be my signature footwear.” She snuck in a stroke along the sleeve of