Page 26 of Passions in Death
“Well, she’s on her feet all day in the salon, or at Seventy-Five. She says it keeps her balanced.”
“How does having somebody stick needles in you keep you balanced?”
“Oh, it’s—”
“That was a question not looking for an answer.” Eve walked to the residential door, buzzed the studio.
She gave it thirty seconds, was about to buzz Anton Carver—one of the artists—when the staticky voice answered.
“Jen?”
“Dallas,” Eve answered. “Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD.”
“Ha ha.”
“Not really.” No scanner, Eve noted, no door cam. “We need to speak with Donna Fleschner, Anton—”
“You for Donna? Dallas and Peabody for me?” A snorting laugh came through the static. “Yeah, right. I’m usually up for pranks, but I’m working, so—”
“Buzz us in, Ms. Fleschner, or I’ll master in.”
“Shit, like I’ve got time for this!”
But the buzzer sounded, the locks clicked open.
Inside, the entrance proved narrow due to the big-ass cargo elevator.
Without a thought, Eve took the clanging metal stairs.
“Loose pants. Even looser pants.”
The owner had soundproofed here, so the only noise came from boots on metal treads as they walked to the fourth floor.
Eve buzzed again at the wide double doors with a sign that read:
STARVING ARTISTS AT WORK
Half the door opened a crack, and a bright blue eye peered out. That eye popped wide as the woman behind the door said, “Holy shit! Not a prank. Holy shit!”
The door shut, chains rattled, then the door swung wide.
“Holy shit! It’s Dallas and Peabody. Did Jen get you to come? My birthday’s not until next month.”
“No, she didn’t. Can we come in?”
“Well, hell yeah! I never thought I’d actually meet Dallas and Peabody, in the flesh.” Donna, currently goggling, had her multicolored streaky hair bundled back. She wore a white tank—as generously streaked with paint—and a pair of knee-length shorts on a lanky frame.
“After I saw the vid, I downloaded the first book—already read the second—can’t wait for the vid. And I started following your cases. Wild stuff! Whoa, check it! You guys are mag cops. I mean so mag. I can’t believe you’re standing here. Shit, we don’t have any coffee. I had to get my kick start at the cart this morning. I can go get…”
She finally ran down, then took a step back.
“You’re standing there,” she said. “Oh God, oh Jesus, do I know somebody who’s dead?”
“I regret to inform you Erin Albright was killed early this morning.”
Now, her face sheet white, she took two stumbling steps back. “No, that’s no way. She and Shauna… They partied last night with a bunch of friends at the Down and Dirty. I know Crack, okay? I know that dude. You know him. No way that happens in his place.”
“I’m afraid it did.”
