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“You bet. She’s right over there, just finishing with a customer. Aubergine hair.”
Aubergine, Eve thought. It looked purple to her. “Appreciate it.”
She walked over, sat, gestured.
“And what can I slip on you today?”
“I’ll stick with what I got.” She held up her badge.
“Okay. Those are good boots for a cop. A good investment, and classic style.”
“If you say so. What can you tell me about Winston Dudley?”
“Winnie? Size ten, medium. Slightly high in the arch, but a nice easy fit. He likes what’s right off the runway. Favors classic styles, but he’ll get crazy now and then.”
“Does he come in a lot?”
“It depends on his schedule. Sometimes I take a selection to him.”
“You make house calls with shoes?”
“Shoes, belts, ties, bags, other accessories. It’s a service we provide to our upper clientele.”
“Are you booked to see him anytime soon?”
“No. He was just in, actually, a few days ago. Bought six pair. I probably won’t see him, either way, until next month, and then only if he’s in town.”
Eve took out a card. “Do us both a favor. If he contacts you for an at-home session, you get in touch.”
Chica studied the card and for the first time looked concerned. “Why?”
“Because I’m a cop with good boots.”
Chica laughed, but turned the card in her hands. “Listen, he’s a really good client. I get a nice commission and a generous tip with the at-your-door service, and I’d really hate to do anything to mess that up.”
“It won’t mess that up.”
“I guess it’s no skin off mine.”
“Good enough.” Eve rose, started out. “Peabody, dry your adoring tears. We’re done.”
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“Oh, God!” Peabody beamed as they climbed to the car. “That was the best time. Did you see those—”
“Do not describe a pair of weird-looking, overpriced shoes to me.”
“But they were—”
“You’ll be crying tears of pain and misery any second. Dudley bought that shoe, right in that store, in March. Size ten.”
“No shit?”
“Not a single scoop of shit. We’ll run the other name—just one other sale—on the list—and the others citywide, global, too, just to cover bases, but that’s just too damn good. Circumstantial, but damn good. Let’s go screw with his day. Verify with his HQ he’s there. If not, find out where he is.”
This time when they arrived at Dudley’s, they were met in the lobby by a woman in a dark, pinstriped suit that showed a lot of leg and showcased excellent breasts. She wore her hair pulled back in a long, curly tail from a face boasting a perky, pointed nose, full lips, and wide, deep blue eyes.
“Lieutenant, Detective.” She shot out a hand. “I’m Marissa Cline, Mr. Dudley’s personal assistant. I’ll escort you directly to his office.”
