In Death 07 - Holiday in Death

sit the hell down?"
    "Just a second." She sucked in air, winced a little. "Little tight in the waist," she managed as she eased down.
    "You should have thought of your internal organs before you poured yourself into that thing. You've got an hour before you're due at Personally Yours. I want you to -- "
    "What the hell are you doing in that?" McNab stopped at the doorway, his eyes bugged out as they skimmed along Peabody's legs.
    "My job," she said with a sniff.
    "You're just asking to get hit on. Dallas, make her wear something else."
    "I'm not a fashion consultant, McNab. And if I were" -- Eve took the time to study his baggy red and white striped trousers and butter-yellow turtleneck -- "I might have something to say about your wardrobe choices."
    At Peabody's snicker, Eve narrowed her eyes. "Now, children, you may be aware that we're working multiple homicides at this time. If you can't be friends, I'm afraid I'll have to limit your playground time this afternoon."
    Peabody immediately squared her shoulders, and though she slid a sneering look toward McNab, she was wise enough to say nothing.
    "Peabody, I want you to convince Piper to stick with you through the consult. McNab, you take Rudy. Once you have the match lists, you'll browse through the retail areas. Make yourselves obvious."
    "Do we have a budget for purchases?" McNab wanted to know, and at Eve's bland stare, he shrugged and dipped his hands into the wide pockets of his trousers. "It'd make more of an impression if we bought some things. Chatted up the clerks."
    "You've got two hundred credits apiece departmental funds. Anything over, it's your worry. McNab, we know Donnie Ray used the salon to buy enhancements for his mother. Make sure you spend time there."
    "He could use a month," Peabody said under her breath, then folded her lips innocently when Eve scowled at her.
    "Peabody, Hawley used credits in the salon and in Desirable Woman, lingerie place on the floor above. Check it out."
    "Yes, sir."
    "You'll both need to contact as many names on your match lists as possible. Set up meets. I want this to start tonight. Arrangements are being made to use the Nova Club on Fifty-third. The earlier in the evening, the better to start. Try for the first meet at four -- then book the rest an hour apart. Get in as many as you can. We don't know if he hit last night. We may have gotten lucky. But he won't wait."
    She glanced over at the photos again. "We'll have cops inside. Feeney and I will be out on the street, in constant contact. You'll both be wired. Neither of you are to leave with anyone. If you have to take a pee, you signal and one of the inside cops goes with you."
    "It isn't his pattern to hit in a public place," Peabody pointed out.
    "I don't take chances with my people. You follow the steps, no deviations, or you're out. Get Feeney and me the match lists as soon as you have them. Any member of the staff at Personally Yours or in any of the outlets shows undo interest in you, you report. Questions?"
    Eve lifted her eyebrows as both of them shook their heads. "Then get started."
    She didn't grin when Peabody levered herself, with some difficulty, out of the chair. But she wanted to. McNab rolled his eyes and showed his teeth as she marched by him and out of the office.
    "She's green," he said to Eve.
    "She's good," Eve countered.
    "Maybe, but I'm keeping my eye on her."
    "I can see that," Eve muttered as he strode out.
    She turned back to the photos. They haunted her, those three faces. What had been done to them crawled inside her and refused to let go.
    Too close, she reminded herself. Too focused on what and not enough on why.
    She closed her eyes a moment, rubbed them as if to erase the images of her own memories.
    Why these three? she asked herself again and moved closer to study the cheerfully smiling face of Marianna Hawley.
    Office professional, she mused, trying out the same system that she'd used to select Mira's scent. Reliable, old-fashioned, romantic. Pretty in a safe, comfortable sort of way. Close family ties. Interested in theater. A tidy woman who enjoyed pretty things around her.
    Hooking her thumbs in her pocket, she turned her gaze to Sarabeth Greenbalm. The stripper. A loner who was careful with money and collected business cards. Reliable, too, in her chosen career. Lived sparely, horded her take-home pay and calculated her tips. No apparent hobbies, friends, or family connections.
    And Donnie Ray, she mused, the boy who'd