It's All About Eve. Tracy Kelleher

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      She held up her hand in acknowledgement. “Carter. Anyway, we get occasional shoplifting, and granted one pair isn’t such a big deal. But this is now the third time we’ve had this particular item disappear from the window.”

      He nodded. “They must be pretty hot.”

      “Maybe you’d like to see for yourself?” Without waiting, she marched from the front of the shop with its collection of nightgowns and robes to a small room housing undergarments. Three small, brushed aluminum tables held artful arrangements of intimate ensembles. Along the outer wall, an almost industrial-looking rod with giant hooks displayed colorful bras and bustiers. Shelves and drawers with high-tech handles lined the inner walls. The remaining surfaces were painted a discreet shell pink, and the wood floors were stained a rosy blond. The total effect was understatedly feminine without being cutesy-wutesy. Eve didn’t go for frou-frou.

      She went behind one of the display tables—the variety of garter belts, including one pair with fur straps, was really quite amazing—and bent over to slide open a drawer. “Here’s a pair just like the ones that were in the window.” Eve turned around.

      The policeman’s eyes quickly shifted from her backside. He raised his hand to his mouth and coughed.

      She straightened up, running one hand down the black material of her slacks, and held out the garment. “Keep it—for reference.”

      Carter lowered his hand and reached for the tap pants—a naturalist getting his first glimpse of a rare species. “So these are tap pants.” He inspected the price tag dangling from a string. “I can see that there’s a profit to be made. And I take it this size eight would also fit—” he looked around the garment and studied Eve’s hips “—someone of your size?”

      Eve frowned.

      “Just think of all this as purely information gathering.”

      “You don’t say?”

      He gave her an exasperated smile. “You know, sometimes an observation is merely an observation. Well, maybe not all the time, but some of the time, at least. At least, I think some of the time it is. Like now, for instance.” He rubbed his forehead, that very nice, intelligent forehead. “Actually, the truth is I’m not sure of anything at the moment.”

      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 СКАЧАТЬ