“Total. Watch this space.”
“Check it.”
“If we could now return to standard English?” Eve asked. “Can you tell us anything?”
“I can start off telling you you’re hunting for somebody rolling in it.”
“Rolling in what?”
Harvo rubbed her fingers together. “Mega mucho moolah. At least it took the mega and the mucho to score the first outfit. I don’t need my loyal associates”—she gestured to her humming equipment—“to tell me the same for the second. But we’re running the analysis.”
“Why mega moolah?”
“Okay, we’ve got a silk-and-linen blend in the jacket and skirt. Finely woven to give it that, you know, luster. It’s a lot of yardage—you’ll get the whole caboodle in the report. And it’s hand-dyed with organics, including saffron. That’s moolah, Dallas, mucho and mega. And the stitching? Silk thread.”
She swiveled, gestured to Peabody, then brought an image on-screen.
Eve saw the inside of part of the jacket.
Peabody saw art.
“Whoa, that’s genius skill. Machine, yeah, but with a way skilled operator. Perfect, uniform, delicate.”
Harvo nodded. “Right? You pay for all this. You pay mega mucho moolah. And the scarves? A lot of yardage there, too, to get the whole…”
She waved her hands over her rainbow hair.
“Silk. One hundred percent, brought to you by Italian silkworms.”
“You can tell the worms are Italian?”
Harvo grinned at Eve. “I can tell the silk came from Italy, and my run says the scarves cost about eight large, each.”
“Eight thousand for a scarf.”
“Probably more, since it had to be custom, right? To match the painting. Even the collar deal, the fabric just above the jacket? Silk. My pal Joker took the earrings, but I can tell you, since we caught a brew last night, they’re man-made pearls, but high quality.”
She swiveled again to face them both. “Add it up? The outfit cost an easy hundred K. You wouldn’t see my shocked face at half that again. So he’s rolling in it. He could’ve got it for like, say, five hundred at an upscale costume shop. Not this quality, right, but the basic look.”
“He’s too precise and detailed for that.”
“I’ll say. To get this? You maybe go to a designer—top level like Leonardo? And that probably runs more than the hundred thou. Or you hunt up one of the venues I found that’ll reproduce authentic historical costumes.Like for other people rolling in it for big-ass fancy costume parties or whatever.”
“I need that list.”
“Coming. Hold that,” she said as something buzzed.
Instead of rolling over, Harvo got up, walked to a machine, and stood, hands on her hips as its screen rolled out data.
“Yeah, yeah. We agree down the line, baby. Got your second outfit coming. Satin, organic hand-dyed for the blue. Even the ribbons—went for silk there, but the same dye mix. Lots of yardage. White silk for the accents. White—handmade—lace for the collar, the cuffs. French satin and silk, Irish lace.”
Satisfaction on her face, Harvo turned. “I need some time to get you a moolah estimate, but survey says, easy a hundred-fifty large. I’m leaning toward one-seventy-five. Add another ten for the hat—it’s an ostrich feather.”
“A hell of a lot for a one-time use.”
Harvo nodded at Peabody. “You got that. Oh, the wig on number two? Haven’t run it yet, but I can tell you by visual and touch, human hair, handmade, and top quality. I’ll get you the estimates and general sources in a couple hours.”
Eve met satisfied look with satisfied look. “You earn your crown, Harvo.”
