Page 154 of Passions in Death
Not too dissimilar from the apartment they’d just been in. More stylish, Eve supposed, not as bold and bright, but a similar footprint.
One of Erin’s paintings hung in the living area—a street scene showcasing Barney’s men’s shop. A gift, no doubt, and now insured for its increased value.
“No clutter,” she observed. “No lived-in mess, and well-coordinated. Like a man’s suit.”
“You could say that,” Peabody agreed. “Nothing out of place.”
“He wouldn’t keep it in a communal area. Bedroom, his space in there.”
They took the short hallway, turned.
“Nice and neat, but you can see they’ve been busy and distracted for a few days—things a little jumbled on this dresser—hers—perfume bottle, little dish with stuff tossed in. This one’s his, and that highboy, too, I’d wager. He’ll have more than her. Got himself matching shoehorn, clothes brush.”
Eve started to the highboy. “One closet, so communal. It won’t be there.”
“I’ve got his dresser.”
Eve took the highboy. She opened the top drawer first. She had about four inches on Becca, and the drawer hit her about chin level.
Socks, folded, not rolled, and color coordinated in dividers.
She pulled it all the way out.
“Jesus, this was too easy.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Nope. He slid it in the back of the drawer, behind some red socks.”
Eve took it out, opened it. “And here’s Shaunbar. Ring, couple pair of earrings, necklace, two bracelets.”
She bagged it, sealed, labeled.
“Would he keep the garrote? Hard to believe that, but since we’re here.”
A few minutes later, Peabody called out, “Not the garrote, but I’ve got piano wire.” Peabody held up the package. “And funny, they don’t have a piano.”
“Bag it,” Eve said, “and let’s go bag him.”
With, Eve thought when she double-parked in front of the men’s shop, as much humiliation as possible.
Several horns blasted as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She ignored them.
The display window showed a couple of fake men. One wore a sharp charcoal suit with needle pinstripes that made her wonder if Baxter shopped there. The other, though it was sweltering August, wore a forest-green sweater with black leather pants.
It had a scarf in dull gold tossed jauntily around its neck.
She stepped in to cool air scented with something between pine and cedar.
Summer stuff—though sweltering August—was displayed on a sales rack or neatly folded on shelves.
Suits, hung in sections by designers, comprised most of one wall. Dress shirts, crisp and folded, were stacked in cubbies. Casual wear took the opposite side, and accessories—ties, cuff links, wallets, belts, and so on—had glass displays in the center.
It boosted her to see one of the staff with a customer while the other approached her with a smile.
“Good morning, ladies—nearly afternoon now! How can I be of service?”
“You can get the manager.”
