Читать книгу It's All About Eve - Tracy Kelleher - Страница 10

EVE TURNED TO HER ASSISTANT Melodie. “Maybe we should rope off the back section and give them a little more privacy? Though, on second thought, I’m not sure we’re zoned for that type of activity.”

Melodie, a twenty-something with a Jennifer Anniston-style haircut, shrugged her shoulders. In the quest to emulate the casual coiffure of her favorite Friends actress, she religiously forked over outrageous sums to her stylist in Hamilton Square. “Jeez, Eve, don’t get in a snit. She bought a black camisole, not nude pasties. And frankly, it covers more skin than my tank top.”

Eve eyed Melodie’s skimpy, canary-yellow stretch shirt. She had been meaning to mention that wearing a top that seemingly defied the use of underwear was not the best look in a lingerie establishment. Still, in her riotous teenage years, Eve had been known to wear bib overalls over nothing but some well-placed Vaseline Intensive Care Body Lotion. Of course that was before responsibility had been thrust upon her. She didn’t even own bib overalls anymore.

Eve shrugged and looked toward the dressing rooms. “All right. It’s just that I was under the impression we were in the middle of a crime investigation.” Her tone sounded shrill, even to her.

Melodie straightened the pens in the canister by the cash register. “Well, it’s not like he had any choice in the matter.”

“She’s right, and I apologize profusely.” A confident female voice sounded, coming closer. “I didn’t realize Carter was here on business—though why he would be here otherwise might be just as fascinating.” She shook her head, causing her chin-length hair to shake perfunctorily. “Never mind.” She stuck out a large, very capable-looking hand. “I’m Simone Fahrer.”

Melodie announced from behind Eve, “Why don’t I go over and help those girls choose at least six pairs of boxers apiece? You can fill me in later.” She waggled her pencil-thin eyebrows and sashayed toward the front of the store. She was about as subtle as Betty Boop.

Eve sighed and stepped away from the counter. She put out her hand and shook Simone’s. The woman had a grip strong enough to be a teamster—though Eve couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a teamster in pinstripes, if you discounted Jimmy Hoffa, that is. “Eve Cantoro, I’m the owner.”

Carter stepped next to Simone. “Simone is an attorney in town.”

“Don’t let that prejudice you,” Simone assured her. “I’m really a very nice person.”

“No you’re not,” Carter said.

Simone made a face. “Maybe you’re right. But that’s beside the point. You have a duty to do.” She pointed to Eve. “Fix up whatever’s wrong with this lady, okay?”

“I’m trying to, provided I don’t get dragged into any more women’s dressing rooms.”

Eve cocked her head. “You found that unpleasant?”

“Well, actually, I always did kind of wonder,” Carter admitted.

Eve looked at him closely. “You realize you’re blushing, don’t you?”

Simone looked, too. “He is blushing.”

“You know, a less secure man might take offence,” Carter said.

Simone raised a skeptical eyebrow. “There’s no such thing as a totally secure male.” She looked to Eve. “Don’t you agree?”

Eve glanced at Carter Moran. The slight rosiness to his cheeks seemed to have abated, leaving a healthy tan and the dark stubble in its place. Some things he looked—in-secure wasn’t one of them.

She turned back to Simone. “In my experience, the only time a man is ever truly secure is sitting on a couch with the button of his jeans undone after eating a whole large pepperoni pizza and watching his favorite football team trounce their hated rival.”

Carter held a hand to his chest. “What? Women don’t feel that everything’s right with the world at moments like that?” He sounded deeply offended. He only looked more charming.

“Women don’t eat pizza with pepperoni,” Eve replied.

“A fear of nitrates?”

“Fear of all streams of orangey grease dribbling down at inopportune moments in all sorts of embarrassing places.” She licked her bottom lip, unaware of the implications until she saw Carter gulp.

Simone eyed Carter before addressing Eve. “I can see you’ve expanded his horizons. And I must say, it’s been an all around fascinating experience.” She came down heavily on the “fascinating.”

Eve plastered on a toothy smile. Unfortunately, one of her upper incisors was slightly crooked, so it didn’t have such a dazzling effect—at least, in Eve’s view. Growing up, orthodontia had been a luxury out of her family’s price range. “I hope you gave Melodie your address so that we can put you on our mailing list. We’ll let you know about our sales and special events.”

“You bet. This is my first time in, but you can be sure I’ll be back. Finally a place to find things to make a woman feel special.”

“Are you taking notes?” Eve asked Carter. “This could prove handy.”

“Sorry? I’m still a little stunned by whatever it was that Simone flashed me in the changing room.” Carter waggled a shaky finger in the general area of her torso.

Simone shrugged. “If I had only known that that was all it took. On the other hand, why am I surprised? Men are so predictable.”

“If we’re so predictable, why bother?” he asked her.

“Because it’s not just about you,” Eve answered emphatically.

“Precisely,” Simone said. She turned to Carter, her chin held high. “You should definitely be taking notes. And you know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Carter said.

“Don’t play dumb. It’s out of character.” She patted Carter on the cheek. “In any case, I’ll see you later this evening.” She waved goodbye and marched briskly out the door. It wasn’t often that such a purposeful stride caused parallel pinstripes to curve in so captivating a fashion.

Eve watched, impressed. “Some woman.”

“That’s for sure, though sometimes she scares me silly,” Carter said.

Eve turned. “And you don’t like that?”

He rubbed the underside of his jaw. “Let’s put it this way—it’s kind of like eating Brussels sprouts. I know it’s good for me, but it still doesn’t make it any easier.”

Which could make for a somewhat tortuous relationship.

“Why don’t we get back to the case? I take it you’re an independent?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yes, I’m not a franchise or anything. I’m independent—totally.”

Carter suppressed a smile. “So, tell me, is your success ruffling any feathers? Have you received any complaints?”

“So far all the neighborhood shopkeepers have been very friendly. It’s a very cooperative community—one of the things that attracted me to Grantham in the first place.” She stopped. “Actually, now that you bring it up, there was one incident. An older woman came in last week—with her young grandson. She was upset when the boy asked what the bustier in the window was for.”

Carter didn’t bother to suppress his smile this time. “Seems like a reasonable question.”

“And, I think, an indication that the kid has a real aptitude for spatial relations. His grandmother didn’t think so though. She said my display was indecent, or words to that effect.”

“Words to that effect?”

“She said, and I quote, ‘It defiles the moral sensibilities of the community.”’

“All that from one bustier, huh? And what did you reply?”

“I said that her grandson was probably just your normal, curious boy, and given that he looked about eight years old, I thought he was probably far more interested in baseball cards than bustiers. She didn’t look like she agreed, but she didn’t say anything more.”

“Did you get her name?” Carter pulled a small notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket. When Eve shook her head, he changed tack and looked around the store. “Is there any other entrance to the store besides the front door?”

“There’s a back door at the end of the dressing rooms that has access to the rear parking lot, but it’s always locked except for deliveries. And there’s the door to the stairway for the apartment upstairs, but again that’s always locked.” Carter lifted his notebook. “I’m the tenant,” she said before he could ask. “I rent from Bernard Polk.” Polk was old-moneyed Grantham. His mother had maintained the family’s social standing by being a devout member of the Daughters of the American Revolution, while he’d done his darnedest to uphold the family stature by playing polo and going through a series of Palm Beach debutantes. The older he got, the younger and more vapid they seemed to get as well—the debs, not the ponies. It was probably just as well that he was hard of hearing but too vain to wear a hearing aid.

Carter jotted down the information. “And you live alone?” He looked up. “Just trying to find out how many people regularly come in and out.”

“No roommate, no pets—no dog, no cat. I live alone.”

“And you like that?” He didn’t bother to pretend to write.

They had strayed from the purely professional again, but Eve didn’t feel troubled. Instead, she closed her eyes and sighed, thinking of his question. “It’s blissful living alone.” For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to look to see if the toilet seat was up or down. She wondered if Simone had to remind him about the toilet seat. Having met Simone, Eve knew she’d only have to ask once.

She opened her eyes and noticed the detective’s puzzled expression. “And your assistant, Melodie is it?” he asked. The pen was at the ready again.

“Melodie Benjamin. She’s my only employee, and she works part-time, fitting her hours around classes. And, yes, she came with excellent references, which I checked out before hiring her.”

“As I would have anticipated.”

His comment pleased her. Maybe a little too much.

“What about your customers?”

“Customers?”

“Who are they? Mostly women?”

“Mostly. Though we occasionally get men coming in—some cross-dressers.” Carter didn’t blink. “But in general, if men come in, they’re here to buy gifts for wives or girlfriends.” She hesitated. “Perhaps there’s something you’d like to purchase? Women cannot live by camisoles alone, you know.”

“They can’t? I learn something new everyday.” He flipped his notebook shut, opened up his jacket and slipped it back in the inside pocket, his particularly taut waist allowing for an uninterrupted motion. “I should also probably talk to Ms. Benjamin, if that’s all right with you?”

Eve shouldn’t have felt a letdown, but she did. She dropped her arms to her sides. “Of course, I’ll just take care of those two customers she’s with. That way you can talk to Melodie and check out the back door and staircase at the same time—not that I’m suggesting how you should do your job.”

“I could talk to her after you show me the exits, if you prefer?”

She did, but that sounded petty. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she protested. “Melodie is perfectly capable of showing you the store’s layout, really.”

“But can she expand my horizons about underwear like you?” His grin was tempting.

She ignored it and walked over to Melodie, nodding back in the direction of Carter. Melodie flexed her shoulders and stood up straighter. All smiles, Eve faced Carter. “Melodie can help you now.”

Eve shifted her attention—well, her partial attention—to the two young women. With graduation scheduled for the coming week, they were looking for a present for their roommate. “What about this pair of boxers with the lips? Too obvious?” she asked. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw Melodie leaning more closely than was strictly necessary. Her hips, in her black stretch pants, were slung so far forward Detective Moran could have done a pelvic exam.

She focused even harder on her customers. “Maybe your roommate is more the playful type? Yes, I know just the thing. Look, these elephants sniffing petunias are great. And they’re the same red as the university’s colors. Or how about the tropical fruits? Very Carmen Miranda.” It was only a matter of time.

A few minutes to be exact. As she finished gift-wrapping the sale—the elephants won out—Melodie joined her behind the counter.

“Just a box is fine,” Carter said, reaching in his back pocket and pulling out his wallet.

Eve watched Melodie fold tissue paper around a champagne-colored silk teddy. It was virtually unadorned except for a small satin bow at the center of the neckline. Something she would have picked out—for herself. She craned her neck to try to get a glimpse of the size.

“Do you approve?” Carter asked her.

Eve hastily readjusted her posture. “I approve of all purchases made in my store, not that you should have felt obligated to buy something.”

“Just trying to expand by horizons.” Carter winked and handed over his credit card to Melodie. He pulled out a business card and offered it to Eve. “Don’t forget, someone will be around to dust the mannequin for prints. But if you think of anything else or have any more problems, give me a call at that phone number. My pager number’s there, too.”

“Thanks.” Eve took the card. It felt warm from being in his wallet. She absentmindedly rubbed it, then looked up. He was watching.

The cash register printed out the credit card slip. “Here you go.” Melodie fished a pen out of a cup.

Carter signed and reached to put the shell-pink pen back.

“Keep it,” Eve said. “It’s got the store’s phone number on it.”

“Thanks.” He slipped it into the side pocket of his pants, near his holster. “The color goes with everything.”

Eve watched, fascinated and somewhat put off by the gun.

He watched where her eyes had moved. “So,” he said.

She shifted her gaze back to his face. “So.” She offered her hand. “Thank you for coming in so promptly, and thanks for all your help.”

His hand met hers. “I haven’t done anything yet.”

But he had. Or rather, he was. True, the handshake itself was brief, one solid up-and-down motion, very brisk. But the separating of flesh—now that seemed to linger a fraction too long to be kosher. And was she mistaken, or had his thumbnail inadvertently—or maybe not so inadvertently—trailed along her palm when their hands parted?

Eve inhaled sharply and lowered her hand to her side. The skin felt hot, tingly hot, as if she’d licked her index finger and stuck it into a light socket. And the line where his thumb had grazed—well, that was like dropping a clock radio into the shower with Howard Stern on the air.

Eve didn’t know what to say. The brief contact had been wildly arousing. Yet surprisingly intimate. Definitely secret. But completely out in public. Had it provoked some latent sexual fantasy she never knew she possessed? If so, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to go there.

Melodie came out from behind the counter and handed Carter his purchase in a pink Sweet Nothings shopping bag. “I hope we see you again.” She seemed blissfully unaware that she was standing perilously close to a surging electromagnetic field.

Not so Carter. Frankly, he looked a little shocked—and by more than 110 volts. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, thank you.” He reached for the bag, and slowly turned and walked out the door.

Melodie slanted her head, angling for a better view. “Oh, my God. I feel like I’ve died and gone to heaven. No check that. The way I’m feeling I’ve definitely gone to hell.”

“If you go for the type.” Eve aimed for blasé. What a joke.

“Eve-y, you’d have to be dead not to go for the type.”

How true. Still, dealing with the opposite sex was like taking on a second job. And it entailed far fewer guarantees of a profitable payoff than starting up a new business—a pretty scary thought, especially when you considered that fifty percent of all new businesses failed after one year. Since Eve had no intention of being anything but a success, all her attention had to be focused on that goal. Daydreaming of true love—or even true lust—was out. Definitely out. Especially when the current object of desire appeared to be already attached to one very nice but very scary lady.

Eve walked to the counter. “Did you call in his charge card to make sure his credit was good?” She looked at Melodie who had moved closer to the door.

Melodie didn’t bother to turn around. “Eve, he’s a cop.”

Eve straightened a pair of satin traveling slippers that sat on the glass top. “You can never be too safe.” She paused. “Who picked out the teddy anyway? You or him?”

Melodie had her nose practically stuck to the glass front door. “He did.”

“Hmm-mmm,” Eve murmured—and she wasn’t sure if it was a hmm-mmm good or a hmm-mmm bad. “Who’d have thought Detective Moran had such good taste. I figured he’d do the typical male thing and pick some red negligee with a plunging neckline.” She thought a moment. “You should have shown him the leopard-print pajama ensemble, bottoms for him and top for her.” The top portion didn’t showcase many spots since the amount of skin it covered was less than two whiskers.

Melodie stepped back from the door. The entertainment must have been over. She didn’t bother to wipe away the nose print on the glass either. “Why? You think they’re more his style?”

“I wouldn’t know. But they’re definitely more expensive.”