In Death 27 - Salvation in Death

tiny opening. “No. That’s okay.”
    “Your separate ways is option one,” Eve continued and noted the black-and-white pulling up to the curb. “And neither of you will come to this establishment for the next month or I’ll hear about it. Option two is I’m going to have—I’m on the job,” Eve said to the uniforms as they strode across the sidewalk. “Can’t get my ID right at the moment.
    “Option two is I will have these two officers cuff you both, put you in the back of their vehicle, and take you the few blocks to Central to book you on the variety of annoying charges I will list. Either way, neither of you is getting that stupid bag. Choose.”
    “I’ll leave if she leaves.”
    “Okay, all right.”
    “You.” Eve tugged the first hank. “Go south. And you.” Then the other. “Go north. Don’t speak, don’t look at each other. Just start walking. Now.”
    She released them, stood where she was until each combatant limped away. She reached for her ID, winced slightly when the bite on her shoulder objected to the move. “Thanks for the backup,” she said. “I think we’re clear here.”
    “Thank you, Officer, thank you so much.” The shopkeeper laid a hand on her heart. “Should I take your name and contact information, in case they come back?”
    “They won’t.” With that Eve walked the half a block more to Ernest’s.
    It was an upscale kind of diner, with service at its stainless counter, or chummy booths. Service was quick, the food simple.
    Mira sat at one of the two-top booths, sipping something cold from a clear glass. Her rich brown hair curled at her nape, and in a new flirtatious way, around her serene and pretty face. The look of her, Eve thought, in her spring’s-here yellow suit and textured heels in ball-lightning blue, seemed more suited to one of the trendy cafés than the cop diner.
    Then again, she supposed the police psychologist and profiler had no more time for fancy lunches than she did herself.
    Mira saw her, smiled.
    “Sorry I’m late. There was a fight over a Laroche triple roll bag. In peony.”
    “You had a fight over a purse?”
    Eve had to grin at Mira’s utter shock. “No, I had to break one up. It’s a purse? I figured it had to at least be a suitcase to get that much insanity. Or maybe it was the ten percent off. Anyway—”
    “Wait, there’s a sale on the Laroche triple? Where?”
    “Just down the street. Half a block south. Ah, Encounters, I think it’s called.”
    “I know that shop.” Mira pulled out her ’link. “Why don’t you decide what you’d like for lunch, and I’ll . . . Yes, Mizzie, this is Charlotte Mira. Yes, it’s good to talk to you again. You have the Laroche triple, in peony, on sale? Would you put that aside for me? I’m just having lunch at Ernest’s, so I’ll stop in to pick it up on my way back to work. Yes, thank you. Oh, I’d love to see that, too—if I have time. I’ll see you shortly.”
    With a smug smile, Mira clicked off. “Isn’t that my good luck? I’ve been toying with getting that bag, and talking myself out of it. But, well, a sign’s a sign.”
    “I guess.”
    “I’m going to have the Greek salad,” Mira said when their waiter stopped at the table, “and another iced tea.”
    “Two salads,” Eve said. “Pepsi.”
    Mira let out a contented sigh. “Gorgeous day, isn’t it? It’s nice to get out of the office, to score a Laroche, and to see you. You look well, for someone who just broke up a fight.”
    “One of them bit me.”
    “Oh.” Mira’s smile faded into concern. “Is it bad? Do you want me to look at it?”
    “No.” Eve rolled her shoulder. “I don’t get it. Scratch, bite, squeal, slap. Why do women fight like that? They’ve got fists. It’s embarrassing to our entire gender.”
    “Yes, I can see a fistfight over the triple roll would have been much less embarrassing for all involved.”
    Eve had to laugh. “Okay, guess not. Anyway, I know you don’t have much time. I’ve got a lock on the Jenkins murder. It’s not connected to Flores.”
    “Unlike the probability?”
    “Copycat, impulse. Probably a long, simmering deal that flashed over when the Flores deal hit the media. So, it’s loosely connected. But a different killer, and different circumstances.”
    “A repeat killer or serial was a worry.”
    “Did you see it that way?”
    “It couldn’t be ignored. The targeting of figures in religious organizations, the ceremony or ‘performance.’