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“Happy now?” Eve asked when Peabody dropped back into the passenger seat and stuffed the end of the dog into her mouth.
“Ummm. Good. Wanna bite?”
Peabody was saved from a scathing response by the beep of the car ‘link. Nadine Furst, reporter for Channel 75, floated on-screen. “Dallas. I need to talk to you, soon as you can manage.”
“Yeah, I bet.” Eve ignored the transmission and whipped around the corner to head back to Central. “Why she thinks I’ll give her an exclusive one-on-one before a scheduled press conference, I don’t know.”
“Because you’re friends?” Peabody hazarded with her mouth full of soy dog and rehydrated onion flakes.
“Nobody’s that friendly.”
“Dallas.” Nadine’s pretty, camera-ready face was strained, as Eve noted with mild curiosity, was her perfectly pitched voice. “It’s important, and it’s…personal. Please. If you’re screening transmissions, give me a break here. I’ll meet you anywhere you say, whenever you say.”
Cursing, Eve engaged transmission. “The Blue Squirrel. Now.”
“Dallas—”
“I can give you ten minutes. Make it fast.”
• • •
It had been a while since she’d swung through the doors into the Blue Squirrel. As joints went, there were worse, but not by much. Still, the dingy club held some sentimental attachment for Eve. At one time, her friend Mavis had performed there, slithering, bouncing, and screaming out songs in costumes that defied description.
And once, during a difficult and confusing case, Eve had gone in with the sole purpose of drinking her mind to mush.
There Roarke had tracked her down, hauled her out before she could accomplish the mission. That night, she’d ended up in his bed for the first time.
Sex with Roarke, she’d discovered, did a much better job of turning the mind to mush than a vatful of screamers.
So the Squirrel, with its debatable menu and disinterested servers, held some fond memories.
She slid into a booth, considered ordering the hideous excuse for coffee for old times’ sake, then watched Nadine come in.
“Thanks.” Nadine stood by the booth, slowly unwinding a brilliant multicolored scarf from around her neck. Her fingers plucked at the long, dark fringe. “Peabody, would you mind giving us a minute here?”
“No problem.” Peabody pushed herself out of the booth, and because Nadine’s eyes were clouded, gave the reporter a quick, reassuring squeeze on the arm. “I’ll just go sit at the bar and watch the holo-games.”
“Thanks. Been a while since we’ve been in here.”
“Never long enough,” Eve commented when Nadine took her seat across the wobbly table. At a server’s approach, Eve merely took out her badge and set it in clear view on the table. She didn’t think she or Nadine were in the mood for a snack, much less possible ptomaine. “What’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe there isn’t one.” Nadine closed her eyes, shook back her hair.
She’d added some blonde streaky things in it, Eve noticed. She could never figure out why people were always changing colors. All that maintenance baffled her.
“Richard Draco,” Nadine said.
“I’m not going to discuss the case with you.” Eve scooped up her badge with one impatient swipe. “Press conference at fourteen hundred.”
“I slept with him.”
Eve paused in the act of getting out of the booth, settled back, and took a closer look at Nadine’s face. “When?”
“Not long after I got the on-air job at 75. I wasn’t doing the crime beat then. Mostly fluff stories, social gigs, celebrity profiles. Anyway, he contacted me. Wanted to tell me how good I was, how much he enjoyed watching my reports. Which were pretty damn solid, considering I hated every fucking minute of it.”
She picked up her scarf, wound it around her hand. Unwound it. Set it down again. “He asked me to dinner. I was flattered, he was gorgeous. One thing led to another.”
“Okay. That would have been, what, five years ago?”
