“Wait, Larga? Shoe Larga’s daughter? Oh, Largas are like art for the feet, like a song, like a poem.”
“I bet they’re like shoes.”
“Seriously the ult in footwear.” Peabody jumped into the elevator, struggled into her pink coat. “If I ever have five or six figures to spare, I’d buy a pair. But even the second line’s out of my reach, even on sale. But maybe . . .”
“Maybe we could also put your shoe fantasies on hold. Second-gen Larga’s married to a Hugo Markin. Daddy owns casinos. A lot of them. They tend to gamble in casinos. Check one. It turns out Markin also has several relatives in or retired from the military. Check two. Since his wife likely lost her pubic hair to Banks at the party before he died, it’s probable Markin knew Banks. Check three.”
For once, the elevator didn’t fill to capacity, so they rode it straight down to the garage. “The Markins live in the same building as the party hosts. We’ll kill two birds with one arrow and talk to the party people.”
“And that’s sort of check four.” Peabody climbed into the car. “It’s stone. You kill the two birds with one stone.”
“Have you ever tossed a rock at a bird?”
“No!” Appalled in her Free-Ager’s heart, Peabody strapped in. “That’s just mean.”
“And ineffective, I bet, since birds can fly. An arrow’s got to be quicker than heaving a rock that’s big enough to take out a couple of birds at a time.”
“But still,” Peabody murmured.
Eve whipped out of the garage. “Baxter and Trueheart are taking the gallery woman back to the gallery. She’s got three possibilities for the painting.”
“It’s not a literal rock or actual birds.”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Peabody decided. “Do you want me to run the artists?”
“Trueheart’s doing that, and we’ll save time if she pins it down to one.” As she drove, ignoring the blasts of ad blimps and the farts of maxibuses, Eve decided it was as good a time as any.
“Nadine’s taking the rocker to this Hollywood thing.”
“I know.” Peabody gave a grin and the eye-roll equivalent of hubba-hubba. “He is frosty extreme, and seriously into her.”
“I don’t want to hear about their sex life.”
“Not that kind of into. Although . . . Anyway, going as a couple’s a major BFD for Nadine, I think.”
“Whatever. She’s taking him, but she has room on her transport and in the hotel.”
“You’re going! You’re going after all?” Peabody bounced in her seat, actually clapping her hands together. “You’re going to walk the red carpet of all red carpets! This is—”
“Oh hell no. Giant hell no. She’s got room for you and McNab. Feeney cleared it, so you can take off on Friday afternoon, report back Tuesday morning.”
Peabody said nothing, absolutely nothing. And stared straight ahead.
“What’s the problem?”
“I . . . I think I stopped breathing for a minute. You’re giving me time off to go to the Oscars? Nadine’s going to take us, and let us stay with her? Her and Jake the rock god?”
“She’s got room.”
Peabody kept staring ahead. “We’re in an active investigation.”
“I’ve got Baxter and Trueheart. And, strangely enough, I managed to close cases before I took you on. You’re not on the roll this weekend anyway,” Eve continued, “so I cut that OT out of my budget.”
“This is . . . I can’t think of a big enough word. I can’t think straight enough to make one up for it. As long as I can remember I watched the Oscars and all the beautiful clothes, the people.”
“Free-Agers watch Hollywood?”