Tracy Kelleher - It's All About Eve

He turned around and looked at her. “Was the mannequin moved or knocked over?”

Eve lifted her head upright and squared her shoulders. “No, the mannequin was completely in order. Just as if nobody had touched it.”

“Well, don’t touch it now,” he said. “I’ll have somebody come by to dust it and the immediate area for prints. Not that I can promise anything.” Carter looked around. A few customers had drifted into the shop, including a couple of Grantham University coeds who were looking at black silk boxer shorts. He frowned and leaned a little closer to Eve. She could smell a light citrusy scent, along the lines of grapefruit, pink grapefruit.

“Are they for women or men?” He nodded toward the boxers.

Eve glanced over, thinking of vitamin C in ways she never dreamed of. “Both. Maybe you’d like to see a pair?”

“No thanks. I’m strictly a white cotton Jockeys guy.”

“Hmm-mmm.”

He looked a little taken aback. “Is that a hmm-mmm good or a hmm-mmm bad?”

“Just a hmm-mmm,” she said. “As someone in the business, I try not to be judgmental when it comes to a person’s choice in underwear.”

“That’s nice to know.” He smiled and thought. “Of course, it leads to the assumption that you’re judgmental about other things.” He paused. “Are you?”

Eve considered the question. “Champagne—I definitely like it very dry. And fireworks—I like them really loud. Then there’s perfume—I like it clean, fresh.” Citrusy, she thought. “I don’t like it when it’s too strong, kind of drippy—you know, gardenias mixed with Spanish moss.”

“Hmm-mmm.” His voice was playful.

She smiled. “Is that a hmm-mmm good or a hmm-mmm bad?”

Carter smiled wider. “Just a hmm-mmm.”

Eve pursed her lips. “I’m glad we’ve cleared up that.”

His eyes danced. “Me, too.”

They stood there smiling at each other until Carter cleared his throat again. “Yes, well.” He looked over toward the counter. Eve’s assistant was ringing up a purchase for a woman in a gray, pinstripe pants suit. Her face was turned away from them. “You said this isn’t the first time that a pair of, uh, tap pants have disappeared?”

“That’s right. We’ve been open—about three months now—but all the thefts, three in total, occurred in the past two weeks.”

“And again, no sign of anything being moved or anything else missing in the other two instances?”

“No. Nothing. Just the tap pants.”

“And always during store hours?”

Eve nodded. “As far as I know. Usually lunchtime, when we’re busiest.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Doesn’t make it any easier though, does it?”

“No.” Gee, she was a sucker for sympathy.

“Carter. Fancy meeting you here.” A tall blond woman—the one who had been at the cash register—grabbed his upper arm and gave it a squeeze.

“Hey, what a surprise.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, catching the corner of her mouth. “We still on for tonight?”

Eve felt the back of her throat constrict.

“You bet.” The woman winked. Her deep-blue eyes matched the sapphire studs in her earlobes. “And speaking of tonight, I came in for a sports bra, and I somehow managed to walk out with this. Take a look. I couldn’t resist wearing it.” She leaned over and pulled out the neckline of her jacket.

Carter craned his neck. “Sorry, I can’t quite see.”

The woman pulled at his arm. “Well, don’t be shy. Come on over to the dressing room, and I’ll show you.”

“You think that’s wise?”

“God, Carter, you’d think I was going to show you something you’d never seen before.” She dragged him toward the dressing rooms. This was clearly a woman who didn’t take no for an answer.

“If you insist.” He looked back at Eve. “I’ll just be a sec.”

“Hmm-mmm,” Eve responded. He didn’t seem to put up much of a struggle, she noticed.

“Is that a hmm-mmm good or a hmm-mmm bad?” he called out.

“Oh, you know me. I’m nonjudgmental when it comes to underwear.” But not when it came to hot local cops.

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.”