Betrayal in Death

"Of course." Denise tried out a lilting laugh. "I'm afraid I was distracted. We're so busy today. But never too busy to make room for you. What can we do for you?"

"Where's your retail section?"

"I'd be delighted to show you. Is there a particular product you have in mind, or are you just browsing? Our consultants will – "

"Just show me what you've got, Denise, and get me the manager of the area."

"Right away. If you'd just come with me. Can I get you and your associate any refreshment?"

Peabody spoke fast, knowing Eve would cut off any hope given half a chance. "I'd like one of those pink fizzy drinks. Nonalcoholic," she added when Eve gave her a baleful stare.

"I'll have it brought right in to you."

Retail was up a level, a short ride on a silver glide, and beyond a small oasis complete with pool and palms. Wide glass doors parted with a fluid little tinkle at their approach. On the other side, the retail area spread in an artful fan, with each spoke dedicated to a different form of beautification.

Staff here wore flowing red coats over snowy white skinsuits. And those were worn over perfect bodies.

Each display counter held its own mini-screen where simultaneous demonstrations were being shown on skin care, body toning, relaxation techniques, and emergency hairstyling.

All with lavish use, of course, of products sold on site.

"Please, feel free to look around while I fetch Martin. He oversees our retail service."

"Man, look at all this great stuff." Peabody edged toward a display of skin care with a dazzling arrangement of frosted glass bottles, gold tubes, and red-capped pots. "Fancy places like this give out great free samples."

"Keep your hands in your pockets and your mind on the job."

"But if it's free – "

"They'll just talk you into spending six months' pay on gunk to go with the giveaways." The place smells like a jungle, was all Eve could think. Hot, over-sweet, and eerily sexual. "It's got to be the oldest con in the books."

"I won't buy anything." She spotted one of the enhancement displays with all those fascinating colors. Girl toys, she thought. And yearned.

But all the color and flash was nothing compared to Martin.

Denise hurried out in front of him, clicking her three-inch red heels over the white floor, like a handmaiden before royalty. She didn't bow, but Eve was certain she thought about it before scurrying away and out the glass doors again.

Martin swept up, his long trailing cloak of sapphire brushing the floor, the skinsuit of silver beneath it sparkling over a long, muscled body. His pecs rippled, his biceps strained, his privates bulged.

His hair, as silver as his suit, was swept up from a sharply planed face in a complex arrangement of twists that were caught in sapphire cord and left to dangle down his back.

He smiled, held out a hand crowded with rings.

"Lieutenant Dallas." His voice was seductively French, and before she could stop him, he'd taken her hand and kissed the air an inch above her knuckles. "We're honored to welcome you to Paradise. How may we be of service to you?"

"I'm looking for a man."

"Cherie, aren't we all?"

"Ha. This particular man," she said, amused despite herself. She drew a hard-copy image of Yost out of her file bag.

"Well." Martin studied the photo. "Handsome in a brute fashion. The Distinguished Gentleman does not, in my opinion, suit his facial features nor his style. He should have been gently dissuaded from that purchase."

"You recognize the wig?"

"Hair alternative." And his eyes twinkled as he said it. "Yes. It's not one of the more popular styles as the gray is something most looking for alternatives wish to avoid. May I ask why you're seeking this man here in Paradise?"

"He bought the hair alternative here, along with a number of other products. May third. Cash. I'd like to talk to whoever waited on him."

"Hmmm, do you have a list of the products he purchased?"

Eve pulled it out, handed it over.

"Quite a lot for a cash purchase. As for the Captain Stud, much more appropriate for him, don't you agree? Just one moment."

He strolled off, showed the list and photograph to a brunette at the near skin-care section. She frowned, studied the papers, then with a nod, hurried away.

"We think we may know the consultant who tended to this customer. Would you prefer to use a privacy area?"

"No, this is fine. You didn't recognize him?"

"No, but I don't interact with customers unless there's a problem of some sort. Or unless the customers are, such as yourself, VIPs. Ah, here's Letta now. Letta, ma coeur, I hope you'll give Lieutenant Dallas your assistance."

"I'm sure." And there was just enough Midwestern twang in the voice to make Martin wince.

"You waited on the man in this photograph?" Eve asked, tapping a finger on the picture Letta held.

"Yes. I'm almost sure it's him. He's had a little sculpting around the eyes and mouth in the picture, but it's the same basic facial structure. And this product list fits."

"Was this the first time you'd seen him?"

"Well… I think he's been in before. But he wears different wigs – hair alternatives," she corrected, sliding an apologetic glance toward Martin. "And he varies his skin tones, eyes. He likes a lot of different looks. A number of customers – clients," she amended, shaking her head at herself, "do. It's one of the services we provide at Paradise. Varying your looks can vary your mood and improve – "

"Save the sales pitch, Letta. Tell me about the day he bought those items."

"Okay. I mean, yes, madam. I think it was early afternoon, because we still had some of the lunch crush. I'd spent a lot of time with a woman who had to look at everything we had in blonde. I mean everything, and then she ended up doing the 'I'll think about it' routine."

She rolled her purple eyes, caught Martin's, then after a jolt, relaxed when she saw his smile of sympathy. "So when this client approached asking to see the Distinguished Gentleman, true black and gray, it was a relief. He knew just what he wanted, even if it wasn't what I thought of as right for him."

"Why wasn't it right for him?"

"He was a big, beefy guy – gentleman – with a square-shaped head. Just a look about him that made me think he worked with his hands, like a trade. The DG was just too fussy elegant for him. But he was set on it. He put it on himself, seemed to know just how to fit it."

"What kind of hair did he have? His hair, not the alternative."

"Oh, he's bald as a baby's… He's a natural scalp. Totally. Very healthy scalp, too. Good tone and polish to it. I don't know why he'd cover it. He saw the Captain Stud on display and asked for that, too. It was a better look. Sort of made him look like a general, I thought, and when I said so he looked very pleased. Smiled. He has a really nice smile. He was very polite and courteous, too. He called me Miss Letta, and said please and thank you. You don't get that sort of thing all the time in retail service."

She paused a moment, frowned up at the ceiling. "Then he told me he wanted to buy some Youth. He laughed a little, because you know how that sounds – buy some youth – and I laughed a little and we went over to skin care. We're trained to assist clients in all areas of our product line, to streamline their Paradise experience and all. I took him from department to department that way. With him telling me exactly what he wanted, and with him, very courteously again, turning off my suggestions for add-ons. We finished with the dietary product, and I said that he certainly didn't need it. And he said that he was afraid he enjoyed his food a little too much. When he was done, he indicated that he would take the purchases rather than take advantage of our free messenger service, so I totaled and made him a carryout parcel. Then he handed over that huge wad of cash, and my eyes about fell out on my shoes."