“December twenty-seventh, between five and seven in the evening. Where were you?”
“When was that?”
“Two days ago,” Peabody said helpfully. “Two days after Christmas.”
“Oh, right! My mind’s just blown! I was right here. Recovery time from Christmas, you know? I had to go see the fam—three days of fam—and that takes it out of me. Our offices are closed this week, so I had the day off work. I’m only going in today because I have a court thing. So I just hung here, watched screen. We could go out tonight, totally have drinks.
“The Blue Squirrel!” she announced, inspired. “Do you still hang there? I’ve been a few times, but never saw you.”
“Did you see or speak to anyone?”
“When?”
“December twenty-seventh, between five and seven.”
“No. Did I? I don’t know. Who remembers?”
Eve leaned forward. “Think about it.”
“Oh well, okay, if that’s what you want. Um . . . Oh, that must be Mrs. Missenelli. She’ll die to meet you. I’ve told her all about you.”
When Hilly sprang up to rush to the door, Eve squeezed her eyes tight.
“Mother of God,” she muttered.
“She’s still wearing one shoe,” Peabody pointed out. “No way, Dallas, no way this is the crafty, controlled, organized killer.”
“Mrs. Missenelli, and Toby.” All smiles and shiny eyes, Hilly came back holding an enormous and fluffy white cat and towing a tiny woman with a helmet of shoe-black hair. “This is Eve Dallas.”
“Metcha,” the woman said, and looked mildly annoyed.
“Can you believe it? Can you believe she’s here?”
“I’m dumbfounded. You’re gonna drop Toby by the groomer’s, right, Hilly?”
“Sure, sure, on my way to court. I’ve got to be in court by ten, but I’ve
got plenty of time to visit first,” she told Eve, “and get Toby to the groomer’s. It’s right on the way. Do you want to hold him? You have a cat.”
“No. Thanks.”
“Toby should meet Galahad. I bet they’d be best friends, too.” Hilly snuggled the giant cat. “We were just talking about how we spent the day after the day after Christmas, Mrs. Missenelli.”
“Between five and seven in the evening,” Eve repeated. “December twenty-seventh. Did you see or speak to anyone during that window of time?”
“I don’t know.”
“You saw me, you spoke to me. Jumping Jesus, Hilly, your brain’s always scattered. Don’t know how you get yourself up every day.”
Missenelli fisted her hands on bony hips. “I came over here, asked you about Toby and the groomer’s. Right about six o’clock, because Mr. Missenelli was watching his show, and it comes on at six. And you still in your pajamas—nice ones though, like I said.”
“From my aunt, for Christmas.”
“You had a glass of wine, and you said I should have one, and since I hate Mr. Missenelli’s six o’clock show, I did. Now, you make sure Toby gets to the groomer’s. I appreciate it. You’re a good girl, Hilly.” Missenelli arrowed back at Eve. “Now what’s all this about?”
“Routine,” Eve said.
“Don’t hand me that. This is about that dead lawyer lady, isn’t it? I heard about that.”