Chapter Four

As they started up the steps, Eve heard Peabody whisper, "Loose pants, loose pants."

At Eve's cool stare, Peabody shrugged. "It helps."

More noise on the second floor. Instead of a crying baby, a toddler wailed, "No! No! No!"

Eve knew it was a toddler, as it continued to wail as his mother carted him out of an apartment door. She knew it was the mother, as the woman with a messy tail of brown hair, an enormous bag on one shoulder, and a wailing kid on her opposite hip sent her an exhausted look.

"My mother told me being a mom's the best job ever," the woman said. "Every day's an adventure, she told me. She must just laugh and laugh."

She shifted the kid. "He knows," she said darkly now. "We didn't tell him, we didn't speak of it, but he knows we're going to the d-o-c for his c-h-e-c-k-u-p and his s-h-o-t."

"Aw." With a sympathetic smile, Peabody reached in her jacket pocket and pulled out some sort of cracker she palmed to show the mom. "Can he?"

"Ah…"

"We're cops." Peabody showed her badge with her other hand. "Peanut butter cracker. Still wrapped."

"Oh. Okay."

Peabody unwrapped the cracker, offered it.

The kid stopped wailing, squealed "Cookie," and grabbed it. Mouth full, he grinned.

"Bless you. A thousand blessings on you."

"No problem."

Continuing up, Eve shook her head. "You carry crackers in your pocket, Detective Loose Pants?"

"Peanut butter—for a boost when we miss lunch. Which we do. A lot."

"Now that you've done your good deed for the day, record on."

On the fourth floor, Eve turned to the apartment door. "Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, and Peabody, Detective Delia, entering residence of Shauna Hunnicut and Erin Albright, deceased."

She mastered in, and when they stepped inside, took a long, slow scan of the living area.

"A shoe store manager and a street artist. They missed their calling. They should've run a cleaning service."

The small space shined like diamonds. Multicolored diamonds, Eve decided. The sofa wore a sapphire-blue cover and showed off half a dozen pillows of varying sizes, shapes, and patterns that—somehow—worked. Mismatched tables, all painted in happy colors, a pair of small chairs, both covered in hot candy pink, a chest painted bright white covered with pink-and-blue flowers.

Art covered the walls. Cityscapes, still lifes, portraits.

A small round table painted the blue of the sofa and flanked by two metal chairs painted the hot candy pink held a clear vase filled with white flowers.

The two little front windows offered a view of the street below—which the victim had captured in one of the many paintings.

It struck Eve as not only amazingly clean, but girlie without the fuss and flounces.

"They were really happy here," Peabody commented. "You can see it, and feel it. And you know, the victim's work is really good. At least for me, it pulls me right in."

Because she agreed, Eve merely nodded as she looked over the tiny kitchen, separated from the rest by a short counter. They'd removed a couple of cabinet doors so their dishes and glassware showed.

"Gives it an illusion of space." Peabody wandered that way. "You have to be really organized and creative when you go with open cabinets. Looks like they were. A printout of their wedding e-vite on the fridge. I'd say Albright designed it. There's a lot of her here. I can see why Hunnicut needs some time before coming back."

"And that gives us room to go through the place."

Eve headed toward the hallway.

They'd set up the tiny bedroom Peabody spoke of as an office/art studio space.

It held a desk painted a kind of coral color holding a mini D and C, a little vase of flowers, and a photo of the two women, heads together, beaming smiles. At the window—about the same size and shape as Eve's skinny office window—stood an easel on a square of paint-splattered white cloth.

An unfinished painting stood on it—a crowded subway scene. Beside it, a makeshift table held a palette, brushes.

Peabody opened the closet. "Shoes! Glorious shoes! Hunnicut would get a discount. Man, they've got some beauties. Two sizes—six and a half, seven and a half. So they both stored shoes in here."

"Fascinating." Eve opened a cabinet painted black, with a skyline of New York under a full white moon.

"Painting supplies. We'll leave the e's for McNab, for now. Let's see the main bedroom."

The more generous space held a bed with a white duvet, deep blue shams, a bunch of fancy pillows. The wall behind the bed had a rainbow arching in a dreamy blue sky. The theme continued with a long dresser painted a pale, quiet green, the frame of the long oval mirror showing a blue a couple of notes up from the wall color.

Rather than curtains, the trim around the privacy-screened window had vining flowers trailing along the white.

"They wanted peaceful in here." Peabody sighed a little. "The whole place… they put a lot of time and thought and work into the whole place. It's really, really pretty."

Just two people, Eve thought, making their nest, living their life, looking toward a future that would never happen.

"Take the nightstands. I've got the closet."

Inside she found clothes organized in two sections—hers and hers. Below, a handmade pair of side-by-side drawers. Painted, of course, the frame the pale green, the drawers the dreamy blue.

They held carefully folded sweaters, sweatshirts, rolled belts, winter-weight socks and tights. Hers and hers again, she thought as she searched through.

On the side walls, handbags hung. She went through each.

No hidden cash, no secret messages.

Eve turned, faced the clothes. On each side, under clear protective wrap, hung their wedding dresses. No way to mistake that, she thought. One, strapless, had a short skirt, the kind that would flare out when you twirled. Albright's. The other had thin straps with a hint of sparkle, a longer, fuller skirt that fell from a nipped-in waist.

They'd both chosen white.

"Their wedding dresses," Peabody said from behind her. "That's so sad. Some sex toys in the nightstands, and each had a tablet. I tried the wedding date as passcode, and bang on both. And they both have folders on there for wedding plans, starting like three months ago. They were having it at Hunnicut's parents' place in Brooklyn—they have a yard. I've got the guest list—about seventy people. The caterer, photographer, the band, the florist, all of it. Each bride's parents were paying a third, and the brides a third. I'd say that shows family support."

"Money talks—but you can't always be sure it's telling you the truth. I've got the dresser. Take the bathroom.

"That'll be McNab," Eve said when she heard the knock. "Have him come back, give me a rundown, then he can take the e's."

She walked to the dresser with its perfume bottles, two little catchall bowls, currently catching hairpins in one, a broken earring in the other.

Another framed picture of both of them, ass to ass this time, in party dresses she'd seen in the closet.

She opened the first drawer as McNab bounced in.

"No case on the twenty-four hours of feed, LT. I've got the vic and her partner leaving together—wearing what they wore at the club—at about twenty-one-fifteen. The victim arrived home, alone, around two and a half hours before that. Hunnicut nearly an hour before that, also alone."

He looked around the room as he spoke. "This is nice. Anyway, one couple came in the building after TOD. The super ID'd them as tenants, a couple on the second floor. I stopped by on my way up here. Dinner, a show, then drinks with another couple. They've got the receipts."

"Okay. You can start on the e's in the second bedroom."

"On it. This is a really nice place," he said again as he went out.

The first drawer, a jewelry drawer with a sectioned insert. From the looks of it, they hadn't separated their own, but mixed them together in sections for bracelets, earrings, rings, necklaces.

But even she recognized two distinct styles. The bolder and the more conservative.

She took out two jeweler's boxes, opened the first. A white-gold band with beaded edges. The ring in the second box matched.

Yeah, Eve thought as she replaced them. It was fucking sad.

She replaced them, went drawer by drawer.

No secrets spilled out. And clearly each had her own side—two distinct styles again, which had her confirming her thought that the bold equaled the victim, the more conservative the fiancée.

She found a red, hinged-lid box on what she believed was Hunnicut's side, bottom drawer. A few more pieces of jewelry.

As she finished up, Peabody came back in. "Nothing but what you'd expect in a bathroom shared by two women. Some OTC meds, no illegals, makeup, hair and skin care, and so on."

"Nothing here, either. They didn't hide things from each other, not that I can see. Maybe that's why when she hid the trip from Hunnicut, she went over the top on it.

"Living room, kitchen."

She stopped at the second bedroom.

"Not finding anything that pops, Dallas," McNab told her. "They've got a joint account and split expenses down the middle. It looks like the victim did some moonlighting. I've got payments listed—fairly small ones—from Your Event Caterers, Lonestar Grill, Quick and Clean Maid Service. All cash deposits."

"Paid her under the table."

"I'd say affirmative. Also cash deposits from her sales—street sales. She kept good records. Some payments from sales through the gallery she worked with. Hunnicut's straight from the Fancy Feet place."

"No record of Albright buying those tickets, deposit for the room in Maui?"

McNab held up a finger. "I've got it, but she separated it from their joint. Sort of buried it. She got a solid payment from the gallery in SoHo. Almost twenty large—and a few days later, another for three, and she dumped them both in a different account, where she's also been slipping in some of the moonlighting cash—probably tips—for a couple months, along with what looks like some street sales. She had just over thirty-five in it—subheaded the file Shauna's Big Dream."

"Yeah, that fits."

"I've got her notes, her math here where she buried the transactions. She bought the tickets, booked the room, and earmarked some for food, drink, fun."

He glanced up. "She added some heart, smiley face, palm tree, and popping champagne emojis. Much love and happy all around."

"Okay. Take it in, dig some more on communications. Maybe Albright got some blowback, some threats, some something and deleted. Maybe she has emails with whoever brought in the case, and deleted. Have a look at the tablets for now, and we'll finish up."

It didn't take long to finish, not with a place so clean, neat, and relatively spare.

She ordered transpo for McNab to take the e's into Central, generated a receipt for them for Hunnicut.

When she reached the car with Peabody, Eve considered the time. "We've got plenty of room. We'll swing by the art studio, see if any artists are in residence. All of them live close, one in the same building, so we'll take them all if we can."

"I'm going to build a toy chest."

"What?"

"Bella already has one. I'll build one for Number Two, paint it. I'm no artist, but I can handle magic trees and some birds, I think I could handle a dragon. Maybe. That's the nursery theme."

"I know the nursery theme." Eve swung into traffic.

"Right. The chair. Leonardo's designing the fabric. Big secret, I'm zipped on it. Hey, I can try to do something that works with the chair. They seriously love the one you gave her for Bella—the chair."

"I know about the damn chair, Peabody. We're on a murder case."

"We're driving. Maybe a chest with doors on the front that open out. Or… make it like a treasure chest, and do a lift-out shelf. Or—"

"I'll stuff your dead, mangled body in the chest and drop it in the Hudson."

She pulled into a loading zone at the building, an old converted warehouse. After flipping on her On Duty light, she stepped out.

The street level held commercial spaces, including an art supply store, a tattoo parlor, and a vegan café.

Above, two levels of apartments. The studio space took half the fourth floor and an alternative health clinic the other half.

"Trina gets acupuncture in the Natural Health Clinic up there."

"Why?"

"Well, she's on her feet all day in the salon, or at Seventy-Five. She says it keeps her balanced."

"How does having somebody stick needles in you keep you balanced?"

"Oh, it's—"

"That was a question not looking for an answer." Eve walked to the residential door, buzzed the studio.

She gave it thirty seconds, was about to buzz Anton Carver—one of the artists—when the staticky voice answered.

"Jen?"

"Dallas," Eve answered. "Lieutenant Dallas and Detective Peabody, NYPSD."

"Ha ha."

"Not really." No scanner, Eve noted, no door cam. "We need to speak with Donna Fleschner, Anton—"

"You for Donna? Dallas and Peabody for me?" A snorting laugh came through the static. "Yeah, right. I'm usually up for pranks, but I'm working, so—"

"Buzz us in, Ms. Fleschner, or I'll master in."

"Shit, like I've got time for this!"

But the buzzer sounded, the locks clicked open.

Inside, the entrance proved narrow due to the big-ass cargo elevator.

Without a thought, Eve took the clanging metal stairs.

"Loose pants. Even looser pants."

The owner had soundproofed here, so the only noise came from boots on metal treads as they walked to the fourth floor.

Eve buzzed again at the wide double doors with a sign that read:

STARVING ARTISTS AT WORK

Half the door opened a crack, and a bright blue eye peered out. That eye popped wide as the woman behind the door said, "Holy shit! Not a prank. Holy shit!"

The door shut, chains rattled, then the door swung wide.

"Holy shit! It's Dallas and Peabody. Did Jen get you to come? My birthday's not until next month."

"No, she didn't. Can we come in?"

"Well, hell yeah! I never thought I'd actually meet Dallas and Peabody, in the flesh." Donna, currently goggling, had her multicolored streaky hair bundled back. She wore a white tank—as generously streaked with paint—and a pair of knee-length shorts on a lanky frame.

"After I saw the vid, I downloaded the first book—already read the second—can't wait for the vid. And I started following your cases. Wild stuff! Whoa, check it! You guys are mag cops. I mean so mag. I can't believe you're standing here. Shit, we don't have any coffee. I had to get my kick start at the cart this morning. I can go get…"

She finally ran down, then took a step back.

"You're standing there," she said. "Oh God, oh Jesus, do I know somebody who's dead?"

"I regret to inform you Erin Albright was killed early this morning."

Now, her face sheet white, she took two stumbling steps back. "No, that's no way. She and Shauna… They partied last night with a bunch of friends at the Down and Dirty. I know Crack, okay? I know that dude. You know him. No way that happens in his place."

"I'm afraid it did."

"But… no. She and Shauna, they're getting married in a few days. This can't be happening." She staggered back to the lump of couch in the center of the room. "Not Erin. This can't be happening to Erin."

"Would you like me to get you some water, Ms. Fleschner?"

Donna lifted shocked and swimming eyes to Peabody. "Please. We got a cooler back there. Please."

She covered her face with her hands, then dropped them.

"How?" she asked Eve. "Why? Oh fuck, just fuck. Where's Shauna? Oh Jesus, poor Shauna. They loved each other. You've got to know they loved each other. Shauna would never, ever hurt Erin."

"She's not a suspect. Why weren't you at the party last night?"

"I was in Baltimore. My sister had a baby, so I took a shuttle down when she was in labor the day before, with my mom. Quentin James MacAbee took his time arriving, like twenty hours or something."

Swiping at tears, she took the tube of water Peabody offered. She cracked it, drank, struggled to continue.

"Our mom's staying down there for like a week, but I was going to try and take the nine o'clock shuttle back last night. I missed it, then there were all these damn storms up and down the East Coast, and I didn't land in New York until around midnight."

She sniffled, drank some more.

"After all that, I just didn't have the juice to glamour up and hit the party. I just didn't have it in the tank. Maybe if I'd been there—"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Peabody said, and sat beside her.

Strong, ropey muscled arms, Eve thought. Tall enough. With an alibi easy to check.

"Can you give us the hospital or birthing center, and do you have your shuttle ticket receipt?"

"Yes. Lady Madonna Birthing Center in Baltimore. My sister's Alyce—with a y —Fleschner. I've got the receipts, going and coming, on my 'link."

She pulled it out of her pocket, swiped up the receipts before offering the 'link to Eve.

"I know you have to ask. You're mag cops, and you have to ask. I swear I'd cut off my fingers before I'd hurt Erin. I transitioned five years ago, and she was with me all the way. It hurt my mother, and I love my mother. She thought I was gay, and she accepted that without hesitation. But facing the reality that the son, Don, she loved was a woman inside? That hurt her. Erin was there for me, and for my mom, too. She helped me in so many ways I'll never be able to pay back."

Eve handed her the 'link. "She trusted you."

"Yes, of course. We trusted each other."

"So you knew about the trip?"

"The trip? What trip?"

"To Maui?"

"Maui? Sure, down the road. They needed to save…" She trailed off. "Wait. The paintings. She sold those paintings. Man, she worked so hard on those paintings. I'm telling her to take it easy, how she had a wedding coming, but she pushed on them. And damn, they were so good. She sold them, but she asked me to keep the sale on the down-low."

"She didn't tell you why?"

Swimming blue eyes met Eve's. "She didn't have to tell me anything. She asked, that's all. Was she going to surprise Shauna with the big dream? At the party?"

"It appears so."

Tears rolled. "That's so like her. Just so Erin. She must've had something in her overnight. Leis or a pineapple or…" Donna covered her face again. "God. Erin."

"How do you know about the overnight case?"

"I was supposed to bring it. She brought it here a few days ago. When?" Now she pressed her hand to the side of her head as if to shove the memory through. "A week or two after the big sale. I don't know, last week? I think last week. She stowed it back in her supply area, and asked me to bring it in, to the party."

"But you didn't know what was in it?"

"I asked, like what's up, and she said she had a surprise for Shauna. A surprise for everybody, so not to look, just to bring it to the party. She had a privacy room booked, and she'd give me the swipe when I got there so I could put it in the room."

After an uneven breath, Donna drank more water. "I tagged her from the shuttle station after I missed the nine o'clock. No, I still thought I could make it. I tagged her like about ten, when they started announcing more delays."

She swiped at her phone again to bring up the tags.

"Man, she looked so happy, and the place was already starting to rock. I told her I didn't know when the hell I'd get out of Baltimore, and I guess I was a little weepy with it. I really wanted to be there, and I was stuck. Then I remembered the overnight, and got weepier."

She wiped away more tears. "All about me, right? She said not to worry about the overnight, she had a backup handling it—just in case—since I had to go to Baltimore. To fly safe, how we'd party twice as hard at the wedding if I stayed stuck. She said, ‘Love you, babe.' That's the last thing she said to me. ‘Love you, babe.'"

"Who would have been her backup?"

"I don't know. Angie maybe, or Becca, or really most anybody at the party. I didn't ask. I was tired, feeling sorry for myself. Is it important? I can ask everybody."

"Yes, it's important. We've spoken with everyone who was there. Show us where she kept the case."

"Sure." Rising, Donna gestured toward an easel with a painting of an old man sitting on a bench, a spotted dog at his feet. "That's my area. Anton is over there. He does mostly commercial art—for hotels, office buildings. Roy's there. He's been doing a lot of mural work lately, but he still comes in a few times a week. And Erin's here."

Like the other stations, it had a worktable, a stool, shelves holding jars and tubes of paint, supplies. She'd stacked canvases, finished, half-finished, blank, against the wall. None sat on the easel.

"She hadn't started anything since the sale. And she had plenty finished to sell from her street spot. Plus, she'd do on-the-spot portraits—pencil sketches, charcoals, pastels. Tourists go for those."

As she spoke, Donna stroked a hand over the easel. "She put the case right there, bottom shelf."

"She didn't worry about your studio mates poking into it?" Peabody asked.

"Oh, no. Don't mess with anyone else's shit. Hard-and-fast rule. Plus, neither of them would've noticed it."

"Would she have asked either of them to bring it in for her?"

Donna shook her head at Eve. "I can't see that. We're friendly, and we're supportive of each other's work. But we're not real tight. And Roy, he works nights, waits tables at… ah, Cuchina—that's it. He's talking about quitting now that his mural work's taking off. And Anton—Anton's a talented artist, but just not the kind of guy you ask for a favor outside of the art.

"I don't understand why it matters."

"Every detail matters." Eve's eye landed on a canvas, a painting of an Italian place, a pizzeria. Bright colors, people sitting at booths and tables, drinking wine, eating a slice, a waitress in motion with a loaded pie on a tray. The long counter at the front window where people could sit on stools and watch New York go by.

A lone figure sat there, facing the window, a slice in one hand.

As she had when she'd first arrived in New York.

"I know that place," she murmured.

"Oh yeah, Polumbi's, one of our favorites. Great pizza. She really captured the vibe."

"Yeah, she did."

Pulling herself out, Eve turned to Donna again. "Who has access to the studio?"

"The four of us. Roy's got a serious girlfriend, so I guess she would. Shauna." Donna lifted her shoulders. "I can't think why anyone else would."

"All right. We appreciate your time and cooperation. If you think of anything else, contact me or Detective Peabody." Eve offered her a card. "Again, we're sorry for your loss."

"Can I—could I talk to Shauna?"

"I think talking to someone who was close to Erin would be good."

"You'll find out, won't you? It's not just a vid, is it? You'll find the bastard who did this to Erin."

Never make promises on an investigation, Eve reminded herself. But she said, "It's not just a vid."

As they started out, Peabody stopped, turned back. "I just wanted to say, I really like what you're working on. The man on the bench with the dog. It's restful. The man and the dog love each other. It just shows."

"Thank you." Donna's eyes filled again. "Thanks for that."

Eve started down the stairs. "She could've had somebody take that trip to and from Baltimore. She didn't," Eve added as Peabody started to speak. "But check her alibi—the birthing center, the shuttle station security feed. Let's cross her all the way off."

"Yeah, you're right. We need to check, but she didn't. She loved Albright. Like the man and the dog, it showed."

"Agreed. We'll do runs on the other two artists, confirm where they were from twenty-three hundred until midnight. But I think she knew Albright through and through. When she says Albright wouldn't have asked either of them, I lean that way."

"But we cross them all the way off."

"We do."

On the street, she considered the distance to the Down and Dirty. "Ten-minute walk from here to Crack's place. Plenty of time from when Fleschner tagged Albright from Baltimore for Albright to tag her backup if she hadn't already. They get here, swipe in—the swipes for this building and the studio were in Albright's purse, not the apartment. Killer goes to the club—probably back door again. She gives him the swipes—and thanks so much—he walks here, gets the case, walks back."

"She doesn't meet him at the back door the second time," Peabody began.

"Doesn't need to." Eve walked to the car. "Killer slips in the back, goes straight to the privacy room—she'd already given him that pass. Set down the case, and wait. When it's done, put the swipes back in her purse.

"Why leave the case? Leaving the case is stupid."

Drumming her fingers on the wheel, she waited for a break in traffic.

"Not much time to plan a murder, though, or come up with the weapon."

"I'm going to say they didn't need it. Maybe just waiting for an opening. Then a baby decides it's time to come out. Add storms along the East Coast, shuttle delays, and you've got one."

She swung into traffic. "This wasn't impulse. Maybe the time and place were. But somebody wanted Erin Albright dead."