In Death 07 - Holiday in Death

an irritable meow.
    "McNab." When she got no response from him, Eve rolled her eyes and gave his shoulder a light punch. He only snorted and turned his head.
    The slight shift had the cat drooping lower. Galahad retaliated by digging in with his claws. McNab snorted again and smirked in his sleep. "Watch the nails, honey."
    "Jesus." Eve punched harder. "No sick sex dreams in my chair, pal."
    "Huh? Come on, baby." His eyes opened, glazed and heavy, then focused on Eve's face. "Uh, Dallas, what? Where?" He lifted a hand to the weight on his shoulder and closed it over Galahad's head. "Who?"
    "You forgot why, but don't ask me. Pull it together."
    "Yeah, yeah. Man." He turned his head again and found himself eyeball to eyeball with Galahad. "This your cat?"
    "He lives here. You awake enough to give me an update?"
    "Okay, sure." Struggling to sit up, he ran his tongue around his teeth. "Coffee. I'm begging you."
    Because she shared the addiction, she was sympathetic enough to go into the kitchen and order him a double-sized mug, strong and black.
    The cat was in his lap when she came back, kneading McNab's thighs and watching him as if daring the man to protest. McNab took the mug in both hands and downed half the contents.
    "Okay, wow. I dreamed I was off planet on some resort island and making it with this incredibly built mutant with fur instead of skin." He eyed Galahad again and grinned. "Jesus."
    "I don't want to know about your prurient fantasies. What have you got?"
    "Right. I checked out all the high-end hotels in the city. No single man booked a room last night. I ran the mid-level ones, same results. I got personal data. Disc's on your desk, marked."
    She went over to pick it up and slipped it into her bag. "Give me the highlights."
    "Our man's forty-seven, born here in New York. Parents divorced when he was twelve. Mother was custodial parent." He yawned until his jaw cracked. "Sorry. She never remarried. Worked as an actress, mostly nickel-and-dime productions. She's got a history of mental illness. In and out of nut palaces -- mostly depression. They didn't do the trick because she offed herself last year. Guess when?"
    "Christmas."
    "That's a bull's-eye. Simon, he got himself a good education, double majored. Theater and cosmetology. He's got a degree in both. Did some gigs as makeup producer. Took over the salon two years ago. He never married, shared living digs with his mama."
    He paused to slurp down more coffee. "He isn't hurting for credits, but his mother's treatments took big bites out of his accounts. No criminal record. Nothing but standard exams and checkups on the physical end, and no mental work."
    "Copy the personal data to Mira, then see what you can dig up on the father. Stick with the hotel checks. He's got to go somewhere."
    "Can I get some breakfast?"
    "You know where the kitchen is. I'll be in the field. Keep me updated."
    "Sure. Uh, Dallas, you and Peabody okay?"
    Eve lifted her brows. "Why shouldn't we be?"
    "Just seemed like something was off with you."
    "Keep me updated," she repeated, and left him drinking coffee, scratching the cat's ears, and puzzling.
    Eve decided that her aide had either slept on a board or put extra starch in her uniform. Peabody was stiff and brittle as burned toast.
    But she was prompt. Exchanging nods rather than words, they walked into the salon together. Yvette was already behind her console, busily plugging in the day's schedule.
    "You're getting to be a regular," she said to Eve. "You ought to let me work in a manicure or something for you."
    "Got an empty treatment room?"
    "I've got a couple, but no free consultants until two o'clock."
    "Take five, Yvette."
    "Excuse me?"
    "Clock off. I need to talk to you. We'll use one of those empty rooms."
    "I'm really busy."
    "Here or at Cop Central. Let's go."
    "Oh, for God's sake." With an irritated huff, Yvette pushed off her stool. "Let me set up the backup droid. We don't like to use droids. They're not as personal."
    She scooted around the corner and uncoded a tall cabinet. The droid inside was beautifully groomed and coiffed, outfitted in a smart pastel skinsuit that set off deep gold skin and fiery red hair. When Yvette initialized, the droid opened big, baby blue eyes, blinked thick, weighty lashes, and smiled.
    "May I assist you?"
    "Take over the reception counter."
    "I'm happy to be of service. You're looking lovely today."
    "Right." Obviously annoyed, Yvette turned away. "She'd say that if I had a face