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Eve hunkered down, putting aside how odd it was to rub her fingers all over fat, naked butts.
Wouldn’t be on the front face, she decided. What if someone inadvertently hit the release? If there was one.
She straightened, moved around the back.
Glasses and mixers and liquor on shelves, and a single cabinet with the carved front. She opened it, peered in at the ice machine, the wine friggie.
Closed it again, opened it. Closed it.
“Got the goggles.”
“Why have a door in front of the ice-maker thing, the wine friggie? Anytime you want ice, you have to open the door. Everything else is on open shelves. Handy.”
“Could just be the design. Or he didn’t want the mechanics to show.”
“Maybe. But how deep are these units? They wouldn’t be the depth of the bar, right?”
Now Peabody hunkered down beside her. “Dad and Zeke have made some nice bars—fully outfitted, custom. One this size . . . Seems like the ice deal wouldn’t need that much depth.”
Eve closed the door again, wiggled her fingers for the goggles. With them on, she began to scan inch by inch.
“This one.” Eyes huge behind the goggles, Peabody gripped a cherub butt between her fingers. It turned fractionally.
“Why does it turn and not open any damn thing?”
“A code or a pattern,” Peabody muttered, “like a puzzle. Yeah, yeah, I’ve seen this kind of thing. We have to figure out which ones to turn, in what order. It’s pretty damn clever. It’s really good work.”
“I’m getting a hammer.”
“No!” Sincerely appalled, Peabody scooted over. “I can figure it out. Give me a little room. You can’t bust up this kind of work.”
“It’s fucking ugly.”
“It’s still art. Here! Here’s another. I bet there’s three. A combo of three. We’ve got this.”
Eve would’ve preferred the hammer, but since she didn’t have one handy, she let Peabody tap and twist and rub cherubs.
“Hey, Dallas?” McNab stepped to the doorway. “I’ve got a transmission from Marshall Easterday, unanswered. It came in today, at eight-fifty-two.”
“Right after we talked to him,” Eve said. “About the time he went upstairs ‘to rest.’”
“He doesn’t sound restful. He says it’s urgent they speak, and says he’s tried his personal ’link, tried the office. Guy’s sweating scared, LT.”
“He should be.” Eve started to push up, to listen for herself, when something clicked and Peabody let out a “Woo!” When she opened the door, the shelves holding the ice machine and friggie slowly swung open.
“Frosted,” McNab said, coming in to hunker down with them.
As they were hip to hip, Eve caught his scent and thought of cherry lollipops.
A small silver box sat in the hidden compartment. Eve pulled it out, stood, set it on the bar top.
“That’s old,” Peabody said. “Like antique old. I know it’s locked, Dallas, but you can’t just smash it.”
“McNab, get my field kit, would you?”
“Sure.” He rose, turned, grinned. “Hey, Captain, my girl found a secret compartment in the john bar, and we got ourselves an antique box.”
“What kind of sick fun house is this?” Feeney wondered as he looked around. Curious, he poked at a power pad. The black tiles shimmered into mirrors. “Oh, hell no,” he said and deactivated. “Dug out an e-mail from Marshall Easterday on the office comp.”
