Separated by a half wall, the kitchen consisted of a mini-AutoChef, a small friggie, a couple of cabinets, and a sink that would have accommodated a single goldfish.
Peabody handed Eve the Seal-It so they could both reseal.
“It’s not much,” Peabody said, “but with a little care, it could be cute and cozy.”
“Obviously she didn’t care about the cute and cozy.”
She moved toward the open gold shower curtain that separated the bedroom.
The room was, basically, unmade bed. What floor space there was provided a home for more clothes, shoes, an empty bottle of wine.
The closet held a few pieces she’d actually hung up, a few more shoes, a pair of over-the-knee boots in fake black leather that shined like a mirror.
Between the side of the bed and the single window jammed a tablesmothered with various facial enhancements along with a stand-up magnifying mirror.
On the wall facing the bed a tall, skinny cabinet wedged in.
She turned, looked into the bathroom.
A wall sink with rust spots. A stick-thin shower, a toilet. And barely enough floor space to maneuver from one to the other. Particularly considering the pile of towels heaped there.
“She took sloppy to a very high level.”
“I don’t know how anybody lives like this,” Peabody said. “Honestly, how did she find anything?”
“That’s our job now. I’ll take the bedroom and the bath, you take the kitchen and eating area. We’ll tackle the rest together. Check any drawers—she had to keep records somewhere, somehow.”
“I’ll get to it.”
Since the makeup table had a drawer above bed height, Eve sat on the side of the bed, angling her long legs through the space.
She found more makeup, a jumbo pack of condoms, and a tablet.
It didn’t surprise her to find the tablet sprang to life with a tap of the finger.
Leesa Culver hadn’t bothered with passcodes or security.
She found the victim’s financial records considerably more organized than the rest of her life.
Eve found every night’s income for the nineteen months Leesa had been licensed tallied.
She’d also listed the standard rates and each act performed—the occasional tip. She’d carefully deducted her fees and taxes, kept a calendar for her mandated medical exams, screenings, and clearance.
No customer names, of course. Street levels didn’t deal with names.
But she had the address for the flop she used when the client wanted more privacy than a doorway or alley, or his own vehicle.
Eve bagged and sealed the tablet, set it aside, then rose to try the cabinet.
Cheap jewelry, cheap, sexy underwear, crop tops, tiny shorts, a selection of purses just big enough for a ’link, an ID, her key—she had a spare one in one of the bags. In a pair of sweats that actually looked comfortable, Eve found two-fifty in cash.
She bagged, labeled, and sealed it.
She found another fifty in the toe of a shiny white bootie, then another twenty in the pocket of a skirt the size of a dinner napkin.
She looked under the mattress, dumped pillows out of their cases. Then had to curve her body to get down and look under the bed.
It occurred to her she hadn’t been the best at housekeeping during her apartment days, but even she hadn’t grown dust bunnies the size of a Saint Bernard.
