“Which way did he go when he left?”
“Ah … To the right. Yes, to the right, as I saw him give the jacket another look, but he continued on his way.”
“We appreciate your cooperation. If he does come back, it’s very important you don’t react, that you treat him exactly as you did today.”
“Oh my.” Bilbo pressed his hands to his mouth again.
If eyes could gulp, his did.
“Tell him you have the jacket coming in, but also put something in the back for him to see. Go back, contact me. Peabody, give Mr. Bilbo a card. Bring something out that suits him, something to keep his attention.”
“I—I can do that. In fact, I did find the jacket in his size in our Chicago store, and it should be here first thing in the morning. I can put it in the back. I can do that. He was so charming. It’s hard to believe he’s done anything illegal.”
“If he comes back in, just think of the charm, go in the back, contact me.”
Eve gave the two detectives a quick up and down. “You look like cops.”
In response, Jenkinson grinned, fluttered his atomic tie at her.
“Even with that ocular nightmare. Get on soft clothes. He may be out in the area, and I don’t want him spotting a couple of cops. Get a shopping bag, or a …” She pointed to what she thought of the manly version of a purse. “How much is that thing?” she asked Bilbo.
“The Joseph Karim City Bag? Eighty-nine hundred.”
“Jesus. Forget that. Mock up a field bag. Bilbo, how much to put an empty box in a shopping bag?”
“Oh, no charge at all. I’d be happy to do that for you.”
“Great. Thanks. Do that.”
She studied Peabody. Despite the pink coat, pink cowgirl boots, the scarf bursting with pink-and-purple flowers, a trained eye would see cop.
“We look like cops. More, he knows what I look like. Give me the sissy scarf.”
Frowning, Peabody unwound the scarf. “Not sissy,” she muttered.
“And undo a couple of buttons.”
“How come I always have to undo buttons?”
“Because you’ve got the tits.”
Eve draped on the scarf while Jenkinson gazed at the ceiling and Reineke took an interest in a display of socks.
Bilbo just smiled. “It’s a lovely scarf. Is it a Miranda Bester?”
“No. It’s a Peabody.”
“You made it yourself?” Hands to mouth again before he reached out to trail a finger over the material. “It’s gorgeous. If I could suggest—if it’s not overstepping—if you wanted to look less official, perhaps some kicky sunshades.”
Peabody pulled a pair—oversize white frames, pink (of course) lenses.
“Perfect!” Bilbo exclaimed when she slid them on.
“I’ve probably got some in the car,” Eve said.
Bilbo added a navy-and-red-striped ribbon to the handles of the shopping bag. “If I may say, that abso-mag Leonardo topper doesn’t look at all cop-like, but you do have a—a kind of authoritative aura.”
“Right.”
He just beamed at Eve. “A newsboy cap—very on trend this spring—would add a flip of insouciance, unexpected in a police officer. Vanity, just a few doors down, has them on sale. If I could say, as an admirer, one doesn’t expect to see Lieutenant Dallas in a newsboy cap and floral scarf.”
Eve nodded. “You’re all right, Bilbo.”
He blushed as pink as Peabody’s boots. “Oh my, thank you!”
“What do you do if he comes in?”
“I act normal, tell him I found the jacket, go into the back, and contact you.”
“That’s right. Thanks for your help.”
Outside, she scanned the streets. “Soft clothes,” she repeated. “And we split the list we got from Bilbo. Maybe we’ll find a couple more Bilbos.”
She hiked up to the car, dug out a pair of sunshades—sensible black frames—then detoured into Vanity as suggested.
She found it a huge leap from Urbane, about three times the size, pulsing with bouncy music, and full of high school and college types pawing the merchandise.
It smelled of cheap, teenage body spray.
Peabody snatched the black cap out of Eve’s hands. “Not that one. Try this one.”
Eve frowned at the purple cap with its tiny pink flowers. “Just no.”
“It goes with the scarf—which looks good on you, by the way—and nobody spotting that cap is going to think cop.”
So saying, Peabody grabbed some sort of hair tie with a pink-and-white butterfly out of a bin. “This is for my hair, since we’d look stupid if we both wore caps.”
Eve accepted defeat. “Sometimes the job is embarrassing.”
But she paid for the cap, put it on, paid for the tie, watched Peabody twist a section of her hair up so the butterfly fluttered just behind her crown.
“It’s going to be more embarrassing if we take him down while we’re wearing this stuff.”
But, Eve thought, she’d suck that right up.
17
They hit bars, restaurants, shops, walked block after block.
They found where Cobbe bought his underwear—black boxers—where he added a light cashmere sweater—crewneck, steel gray—and two dress shirts.
He stopped into a market along the way, bought some basic provisions.
He would, eventually, return to at least one or two of those places. She had to depend on responsible citizens contacting her when he did.
She hated depending on civilians.
They made a last stop at a bar offering high-priced drinks with fancy names served by impossibly beautiful waitstaff.
They hit with the bartender, who nodded immediately when they flashed Cobbe’s photo.
“He was in last night until closing. I guess he came in about midnight—I worked a double yesterday, so I was on the bar until closing. Gin Blossoms—that was his drink. I can look up the tab for you, but he paid cash, had four, and bought two glasses of champagne for Kaylee.”
“Kaylee?”
“Kaylee Skye—our entertainment. She sings—old bluesy numbers—from ten to two. I say he came in about midnight because I know she was on her second break, and he hit on me a little. Friendly like, but definitely had the moves.”
“Okay.” Eve sized her up. The impossible beauty extended to bar staff. This one was tall, lanky, silvery blond with cheekbones that could cut glass.
“Then Kaylee came out, started her second set, and he forgot about hitting on me. Kaylee’s a stunner, and she’s got the pipes, right? Sexy, smoky, and she wears those sleek, sinuous sorts of gowns for her gigs, like you see in old vids? Can I get you a drink?”
“How’s the coffee?”
The bartender smiled. “I’ll say it’s not our specialty.”
“Got Pepsi?”
“Got Coke.”
“I’ll take it.”
“The no-cal for me,” Peabody said. “Could we have your name?”
“Sure. Londa, Londa Stanski.”
“So he focused on the talent,” Eve continued. “Kaylee Skye.”
“Big-time. Asked me what she drank, then sent her up a glass of the champagne she likes. It’s primo, so he had the scratch. And you could hear the click, right?”