The woman, back at the counter, folded and fluffed tissue into a shopping bag. “Tiko!”
Young for the mom-and-pop label, Eve thought. They looked entirely too relaxed and happy to be New York City merchants. And neither wore black.
“Happy holidays,” the woman said as she gave her customer the shopping bag. “You come back and see us.”
Tiko dragged Eve straight back. “This is Dallas. She’s the cop who cleared this place out so you could rent it.”
“Oh, Lieutenant Dallas. Tiko’s told us all about you. I’m Astrid.” She offered a hand. “It’s great to finally meet you.”
“Dallas, she needs presents for some girlfriends. How many friends you got?”
“Crap. I need something for . . . I guess there’s five I need to take care of.”
“Let me just . . . Ben, this is Tiko’s Lieutenant Dallas.”
“No kidding? Great to meet you. If you’ll excuse me a minute, I’ll be right with you.”
“Do you see anything you like?” Astrid asked Eve.
“I don’t know.” There were bags, with straps, without straps, satchels and cases, tiny little purses that would be absolutely useless, enormous ones that could hold a room of furniture. “I don’t get this stuff.”
“Ladies like bags. Don’t you got bags?” Tiko demanded.
“I have pockets. I have a field kit. I’ve got a file bag when I need it.” And she had the dozens of girlie bags that found their way into her closet along with the dozens of shoes, the forest of clothes.
Her husband definitely got that stuff.
“Why don’t you pick one of the five,” Astrid suggested. “Tell me a little about her.”
“Ah. Okay, elegant, classy, not rigid or stuffy, but classy. Mostly goes for soft colors, but can surprise you. Everything always goes together like she worked it out on a program first. Professional, smart. Kind.”
“I like her already. I’ve got something in the back that just came in. I think it might work.”
“Told you they’d take care of you,” Tiko said when Astrid hurried off.
&n
bsp; “The stuff in the back isn’t hot, is it?”
Insult covered his face. “What you think? These are good guys.”
“Okay, okay. Shopping makes me twitchy. Why is there so much of everything?”
“So not everybody has the same.”
Astrid came back with a box, slipped out the long, narrow bag. “I only ordered a few of these, just to see how we did. They’re hand-painted. Really special, I thought.”
“Ah.” Eve studied it. Smooth, a little silky, with a pastel garden of flowers and a jeweled butterfly as a clasp.
“Since they’re hand-painted, they’re one of a kind.”
“I guess she is, too,” Eve said, thinking of Mira. “I think she’d go for it.”
“I got a nice silk scarf that color pink.” Tiko tapped one of the flowers. “You fluff it up inside the purse, and you got class, like you want.”
Eve eyed him. “Sold. Moving on. Now I’ve got one who’s out there. Nothing’s too much, too wild, too anything. Color, bright, changeable, bouncy. Oh, and she’s got a kid. A girl kid, not quite a year old.”
“Oh, I’ve got it.” Astrid clapped her hands together. “We have these great mother-daughter bags. Just so much fun. Practical, too, as they’ll convert from shoulder bags to handbags to backpacks.”