Kindred In Death

Shoulders hunched, he drew one of the playbills out with tongs, set it on a sterile pad. He ran a sca

“Got smears, and lots of them, some partials, a couple of decents-and that’s just the cover of one. Do you know how many people handle this kind of thing? You got the people who put them together, pack ’em, ship ’em, unpack ’em, divvy them up, pass them out.”

“I want every print, and smudge, on both of them-inside and out-analyzed and ID’d.”

“It’s not a fucking snap. We’ll do it, we’ll get it done, but it’s not a fucking snap with this many hands on them.”

“Just get me the prints. I’ll do the eliminating.”

“Damn right you will.” He pointed at her, stood-or sat-his ground. “We got you what you needed this morning. I worked this myself, and put two of my best on it. We did our job, and we’ll do this one, too. So don’t jump down my throat.”

Because she respected his a

“We’ll get you what you need.”

She stepped back, hands in her pockets. “Two boxed seats, third base side, Yankees, first home game in July.”

He bared his teeth in a smile. “That’s more like it.”

What the hell, she thought as she trudged back to her car. He’d have earned it.

She started to head back uptown, toward home, then realized she wasn’t all that far, not really, from Louise’s new place in the West Village. A quick detour, and she could do her duty.

Probably Louise wasn’t even home. Probably. And if Charles was, she could just make noises about stopping in on the way home to see if there was anything she could do for Saturday.

She’d be off the hook, and it wouldn’t take more than thirty minutes.

Excellent plan. She called up the address, which she couldn’t remember, on her in-dash, and began weaving and dodging her way toward the more trendy sector.

Shady trees, old brownstone and brick, tidy little front courtyards gave this slice of the West Village a neighborhood appeal. Flowers bloomed, little dogs pranced on the ends of leashes held by people who could afford to stroll on a weekday afternoon. Vehicles, of the smart and shiny variety, lined the curbs. She snagged a spot two blocks from her destination and used the walking time to run probabilities.

Mira’s profile said he worked, and since he had better-than-average e-skills, maybe he worked in that field. The computer gave the idea some merit with a seventy-two-point-one probability.

Going with that, she thought, if he’d attended Columbia, he’d have taken e-courses. More, certainly, than were required for any degree. Possibly, he majored in some e-field.

Tap the source there, she thought, and refined her search request to Peach Lapkoff to include students from Southern states who’d majored in or had a strong focus in e-degrees.

Immersed, she might have walked by if Louise hadn’t hailed her.

“Dallas! You have to be the last person I expected to see walking by.”

Distracted, Eve stopped, glanced over. And there was the bride-to-be, with her su

“I was in the neighborhood. Sort of. Did you actually do that?” Eve gestured to the flowers spreading and climbing behind a pretty iron gate.

“I did. Who knew?” Laughing, Louise pulled off gloves the same color as her cap. “I was going to get someone to do it, then I thought, for God’s sake, I can dig into someone’s abdomen, I ought to be able to dig in some dirt. It’s fun!”

“Okay.” She wasn’t sure about that part, but the results were fairly mag. “It looks great.”

“I wanted to get it all in before the wedding. Some of the out-of-town guests are coming for di

“I’m just swinging by,” Eve said when Louise opened the gate. “On my way home. To work. But I thought I’d see if there’s anything you need, or that I should-could do to help you out before the deal.”

“I think everything’s right on schedule, which is helped by the fact I’m ridiculously hyper and out of my mind. I had no idea I’d be such a lunatic about every tiny detail.” She led the way up the path through the flowers to the main front door. “I have lists of lists. And I’m enjoying every minute of it.”

“It shows. You look stupid happy. In a good way.”

“I am, exactly. We are. Charles is down in his office with clients. He’ll be another hour at least.”

“How’s that going for him?”

“It’s going great, and it’s so much what he wants now. This is all so much what we want.” She opened the door, gestured Eve into the foyer.

Smooth, Eve would have said, with walls in warm, subtle color accented with streamlined mirrors and bold art. A sleek table held slim, sinuous bottles in various sizes and sharp colors.

The theme continued with that mix of bold and quiet when Louise grabbed her hand to pull her into a living area with more sleek in the lines of the sofa, a hint of curve in the shape of chairs.

The impression was what she supposed would be upscale urban chic, with the personal touches of photos, flowers, and bits and pieces she remembered seeing in their individual apartments.

“This place was empty when you bought it, right?”

“Yes.” Pleasure sparkled Louise’s eyes to silver. “We’ve had the best time furnishing and decorating it. We still need the finishing touches, but-”

“It looks finished.”

“Oh, not yet, but it’s evolving. Let me show you the rest.”

Impossible to say no, so Eve trailed through the house, and tried to make appropriate comments or noises when Louise rhapsodized about how she’d fallen in love with a particular lamp or chair. Throughout, the ambience was style, slick, and somehow calm.

“Charles isn’t allowed in here yet.” Louise opened a door. “This is bridal mania.”

Eve wouldn’t have called it mania, but more organized chaos. In what she assumed would serve as a guest room, Louise had set up her wedding HQ. Two open, partially packed suitcases sat on a bed while gift and shipping boxes were tidily stacked or arranged in a corner. Wedding gifts, Eve supposed, that hadn’t yet found their place. On a desk beside a mini D and C sat a stack of discs, with a pile of notecards.

In the center of the room sat a large, two-sided board covered with bits of material, photographs of flowers, outfits, hairstyles, food, charts and time lines.

Eyes narrowed, Eve circled it, only mildly surprised to see a comp-generated image of herself in the yellow gown.

“It’s like a murder board,” she murmured, then winced. “Sorry, bad comparison.”

“Not entirely. It’s the same principle. Everything that applies is on there, right down to the olive picks for the reception. I’m obsessed.”

She laughed a little desperately as she pressed her hands to her heart. “I’ve got charts and spreadsheets on the computer to keep track of gifts, responses, seating, wardrobe, including the honeymoon. It’s like a drug.”

“You don’t need me.”

“Not for the details, but boy, otherwise.” Louise grabbed Eve’s hand again, then released it to wrap her arms around herself. The quick, jerky movements were completely out of character.

“Maybe you need a drug,” Eve suggested.

“Hah. I’m nervous, and I never expected to be. We’re changing our lives for each other, making a life with each other. It’s what I want, and I want it more every day I’m with him.”