Page 155 of Passions in Death
His young, slick, handsome face showed concern. “Oh, is there a problem?”
“Apparently. Where’s Greg Barney?”
“He’s in the dressing room area with a client. If I could assist—”
“You can, by getting him.”
“Of course. Just one moment.”
As he hurried off, the shop door opened.
Eve recognized Allisandra Charro, personal shopper, from a case they’d recently closed.
And Charro recognized her.
Beaming smiles, she stepped forward in red stilettos and offered a perfectly manicured hand. “Why, Lieutenant Dallas! We meet at last. I helped you identify a murderous teenager by his Stubens.”
“I remember.”
“Shopping for Roarke?”
“No. On duty.”
“Really? How exciting. I’m just here to make some selections for a client—whom I assume has no murderous intent.”
“Good luck with that.”
As Barney came out, Eve walked toward him.
“Oh, Lieutenant, Detective. If I’d known— You’ve charged that terrible woman.”
“Yeah, we did. And now it’s your turn. Greg Barney, you’re under arrest for robbery.”
“What? What? That’s insane. I’ve never stolen anything in my life!”
She sort of hoped he’d resist, but apparently he was too shocked to make a fuss as she cuffed him.
“You have the right to remain silent,” she began as Peabody flanked him and they started out.
“This is some crazy mistake. Roderick, take over. I’ll have this sorted out in no time.”
“Bet you don’t. You have the right to an attorney and/or legal representation,” Eve continued as they walked him out.
“I’d absolutely love to dress you,” Charro called out. “More than ever!”
“I take care of that all by myself.” She continued the Revised Miranda, and Barney, flushed to the roots of his hair with mortification, continued to protest his innocence.
“This is outrageous!” he began to sputter when secured in the back of the car. “You’ve embarrassed me at my place of business.”
Hope so, Eve thought as she got behind the wheel.
“I’m not a thief. What am I supposed to have stolen? How could you do something like this?”
“With a warrant.”
“I don’t believe you. I haven’t stolen anything, so you can’t have a warrant.”
“Right here.” Helpfully, Peabody held up the warrant she’d printed out on her PPC.
