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Aw, thought Eve. She wanted to take his hand, tell him not to worry. Offer him a cappuccino. No, maybe her shoulder. Maybe more than her shoulder. Maybe say something like, “I don’t usually do things like this, but would you like to spend a weekend at a little B&B in Bucks County, the kind of place with floral wallpaper, tasseled throw pillows and bowls of potpourri?”
Did people really say things like that?
Carter held up a hand. He looked like he was about to speak.
Maybe they did.
“You know, one thing I am sure of, I’m here on official duty. Right?” He looked like he was asking for confirmation.
Eve swallowed hard. “Right. Absolutely.” Where were her thoughts wandering at a time like this? Tasseled pillows, my God. She hated tassels. “Actually, for the record, those tap pants happen to fit the mannequin in the window.”
Carter slowly walked back to the front of the shop and stared at the display window. “Was the mannequin disturbed in any way?” There were three mannequins on view: one had on a slinky negligee, a second wore flannel pajamas with ducks swimming in what looked like bathtubs, and the third—in the middle—featured a strapless, red lace bustier and a decidedly naked bottom. Carter Moran didn’t appear to be staring at the ducks.
Eve paused midstride. The way a man walked could definitely be attractive in a way that had never occurred to her before. “What was that?”
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.
2
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.
