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“You.” She pointed at Sima. “Sit over there. Don’t touch anything.” Then she gestured Trina over to the kitchen bump. “If she doesn’t live here, how did you get in?”
“She still has her swipe. Or the copy she made for me when she hooked into the place with him. He only kicked her out a week ago.”
“Why did the two of you come here—and you’re both lit. I can see it, hear it, smell it.”
“About half lit,” Trina corrected with the faintest smirk. Eve’s flat, narrow gaze had her shifting side to side, giving her tower of hair—swirled in the same color and pattern as her nails—a little toss.
“Okay, look, full disclosure, right? Trey dumped her. She came home from work and he’d packed her stuff, said they were done and to get out.”
“They had a fight.”
“Hell no. She’s got the spine of a worm—can’t help it—so even though she’s been paying the rent, he said half but I know what this dump should go for and it was plenty more than half. And she paid for December, so she paid this month’s rent, and she has rights. Right?”
“Just keep going,” Eve ordered.
“Okay. So she just starts crying, takes her stuff and goes. Anyhow, she got a flop for about a week, doesn’t tell me or any of us ’cause she said she was all embarrassed, then finally spills it. I have her at my place, on the pullout until she can get it together.”
“And?
”
“And?”
“Let us wind around to tonight and the dead man.”
“Right. Well, tonight, a bunch of us were hanging after work, and there was tequila. And we got this idea about payback. He’s supposed to be in Atlantic City for a couple days, so we bought the toy golf club and some itching powder. We were going to unravel the toes of his socks, put the powder in his face cream, replace one of his clubs with the toy, then book. That’s it. We came in, headed back there, saw him. I pulled her out, tagged you.”
“Itching powder?”
“Serious shit.” Trina nodded wisely. “He’d’ve wanted to scratch his face down to the bone. He deserved it. Look at her.”
Sima sat, head bowed, tears dripping.
“Jesus Christ. Did you know this guy?”
“Yeah, some. Massage therapist, personal trainer. He worked at Buff Bodies, the fitness place near my salon. Most of the staff there use my salon. Sima works for me. That’s how they met.”
“Did you ever roll with him?”
“Shit no.” Trina’s eyes—a bold Christmas green lidded with gold glitter—reflected both insult and disgust. “Guy was a prick and a player. I can do better. Sim didn’t think she could. Self-esteem issues, you know?”
“Whose red shoes, whose underwear?”
“No clue. Not Sim’s.”
“Stay here.”
“Hey, Dallas, go easy on her. She’s a real sweetie, and I talked her into this. I thought giving him a punch would make her feel, you know, empowered. Otherwise, somebody else would’ve found him, and she wouldn’t have that in her head.”
“For all I know the two of you did him, and pulled me in to cover it up.”
Trina snorted out a laugh, sobered instantly at Eve’s stony stare. “Shit. Really? Come on!”
“Stay here.”
She walked back over to where Sima sat quietly hiccuping through tears.
“Tell me what happened.”
