Page 20 of Concealed in Death

“There is no Goddess Moonglow.”

“Well, it’s an easy mistake since half of Free-Ager women are named Moonglow. Or Rainbow. Or Sundrop.”

“I only have one cousin named Rainbow, and my cousins are legion.” In a huff, Peabody leaned on the car as well. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Nice mouth, Free-Age Girl. And yeah, some. Philly in there? She’s all about talking the inclusive talk, and might believe she means it. But her idea of what everybody should believe, God-wise, would fit in a pretty small box. With a very tight lid.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s true. And she strikes me as the type who doesn’t mean to dismiss others’ belief systems, or even their lack thereof. It’s just she’s so unshakably sure hers is right—and more, the only right one.”

Peabody paused a moment. “What are we waiting for?”

Eve jerked a chin toward the building as the front door opened. “Her.”

Quilla squeezed out the door. She paused at the palm plate, pulling something out of her pocket, shoving it underneath. Then she strolled very casually down the short steps, turned toward the bench, now empty, in the tiny courtyard.

Then suddenly veered off—cam blind spot, Eve guessed—jogged to the fence, vaulted over it.

And strutted up to Eve.

She said, “Hey.”

“Back at you.”

“You’re completely the Icove cops.”

“We’re New York cops,” Eve corrected, and got a big eye roll.

“You get me.”

“What did you put on the plate, the security, to get clear?”

Quilla shrugged. “It’s a jammer. We’ve got a couple of e-geeks in group. I paid one of them to make me one. You came because of all the dead girls they found this morning, right?”

“What dead girls?”

“Shit, get off. The ones that were all dead to the bone up in Midtown. In the fuck same building Ms. Jones used to have. So you’re here about all that.”

“Let’s start here. How do you know all this?”

“I can see cops, can’t I? And I recognized your faces from all the hoo-rah-rah about the vid. So after Ms. J’s latest bitch-fest I did some research. I know how to research. I’m a writer.”

“Is that what you are?”

“And I’m going to be a good one, once I shake out of this place. How’d they get dead?”

“Why would I tell you?”

Quilla shrugged. “I could write about it. You don’t have to tell me, I’ll find out. Like I said, I can research. But if you figure Ms. J or Mr. J killed them, you’re not much of a fucking cop.”

“Why is that?”

“They’re too holy. And sure, some people play like they’re holy, and they’ll stick a hand down your pants first chance they get.” Now Quilla stuck her hands in the kangaroo pocket of her hoodie. “But they’re not playing at it.”

“How old are you?” Peabody wondered.

“Sixteen.”

Eve cocked her head. “Maybe you will be. In a couple years.”

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