Imitation in Death

“There now, there.” Cooing, she put an arm around his waist, took his weight. “I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry. Poor baby. Don’t you worry.”

She shot a vicious look at Eve over her shoulder as she led Smith from the room. “I want you gone when I get back. If not, your superior will hear about this.”

Eve pursed her lips, listening to Li’s voice fade as she cooed Smith away.

“Guy’s got some serious problems,” Peabody commented.

“Yeah. Maybe he thinks he can cover it up with meditation, herb drinks, and mind-numbing music.” Eve shrugged. “Maybe he can. He couldn’t look at the blood,” she added, studying the towel. “Made him sick to see blood. Hard to do what was done to those two women if blood makes you sick. Then again, maybe it’s just the sight of his own blood that does it.”

She checked the time as they left the house. “We’re ru

“Yeah?” Peabody perked right up. “Then maybe we could hit a cart, or a24 /7. I missed breakfast.”

“Not that early.” When Peabody’s face fell, Eve sighed. “You know I hate that kicked-puppy look. Whatever we pass first. And you have one minute to do the transaction, which will include getting me coffee.”

“Deal.”

They hit a cart, so Peabody settled for a scrambled egg wrap that Eve assumed tasted better than it smelled. The coffee didn’t but that was par. “We’re going to talk to Breen’s wife. I got a hassle when I called her office for her schedule, so I pulled in the reserves.”

Peabody’s response was an egg-substitute-filled mumble. She swallowed. “I’m supposed to arrange the appointments.”

“You’re going to bitch because I cut you a break?”

“No.” But she had to fight the pout. “I don’t want you to think I can’t fulfill my duties because I’ve got all this stuff going on.”

“If I have a complaint about your work, Peabody, you’ll be the first to know.”

“That’s a given,” Peabody muttered and took a slug of her orange-flavored energy drink. “You said reserves?”

“Julietta does fashion. I happen to know somebody in the fashion forefront. Ms. Gates’ schedule miraculously cleared when she got a call from Leonardo’s main squeeze.”

“You tagged Mavis. Mag.”

“It’s not a girl outing, Peabody, it’s a murder investigation.”

“Silver linings, sir. I like a nice silver lining.” Peabody washed down egg substitute with reconstituted citrus product. “I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to be neighbors. At least until she has the baby. I guess they’re going to want a bigger place.”

“Why? How much room could a baby take up?”

“It’s not the baby so much, it’s all the stuff. You got your crib, your changing table, your activity center, your diaper unit, your-”

“Never mind. Jeez.” It gave her the mild weirds just to think about it.

“It was really smart to horn in using Mavis.”

“I have my moments.”

“Of course, you could’ve just told them you were Mrs. Roarke, and they’d have bowed to you.”

“I don’t want them to bow to me, I just want a damn interview. And don’t call me Mrs. Roarke.”

“Just saying.” Cheerful now, Peabody polished off the wrap. “Boy, nothing like a good breakfast to lift your mood. It’s not such a big deal, getting a place with McNab. It’s just another step in an evolving relationship. Right?”

“How the hell do I know?”

Fastidiously, Peabody dug out a wipe for her fingers, and made a mental note to replace the bloody handkerchief she’d left at Smith’s. “Well, when you moved in with Roarke you didn’t get all stupid and nervous and knotted up.”

There was a long pause, a long silence.

“You did?” Peabody’s head thunked back on the seat. “That’s so great. It makes me feel so much better. If you can get all screwed up over moving in with the god of men, into that palace, it’s okay for me to get wigged about moving to an apartment with McNab. It’s okay.”

“Now that we’ve solved that thorny dilemma, maybe we can concentrate on the case.”

“I just have one more question. When did you get over it? I mean, how long did it take for you to feel normal about hooking up with Roarke-living in the same space and all that?”

“I’ll let you know when it happens.”

“Wow. That’s…” She thought it over, and a dreamy smile bloomed on her face. “That’s sweet.”

“Please shut up before I have to hurt you.”

“Dallas, you said please. You’re mellowing.”

“Insults,” Eve grumbled. “All I get are insults. Mrs. Roarke, sweet, mellowing. We’ll see how mellow I am when I stuff your head up your ass.”

“And she’s back,” Peabody a

– -«»--«»--«»--

You could always count on Mavis, Eve thought. For a favor, for a laugh, for a shoulder. And most of all for sheer surprise.

Being four months pregnant hadn’t depleted her energy or affected her bent for fashion risks. At least Eve assumed they were risks as nobody, absolutely nobody, looked quite like Mavis Freestone.

She’d gone for summer pastels, for her hair in any case, and had swooped it up in some sort of snaky twists that twined gleaming hunks of blue and pink and greens together. They were anchored here and there with lavender pins in the shapes of what Eve took for tiny flowers, until she got a closer look and realized they were naked babies curled into the embryonic position.

Talk about the weirds.

A dozen thin chains of gold and silver dangled from each ear. On each chain, colorful balls hung that clanged together every time she moved. Which meant constantly.

Her tiny body was decked out in a skirt the size of a table napkin, matched with a swingy vest, both in white, and both covered with tiny question marks that echoed the hues of her hair. She wore shoes with one clear strap. The thick soles and clunky heels were filled with more little balls that jingled with each step. Her toenails were painted in every color of the rainbow.

For Mavis, it was business attire.

“This is absolutely magalicious,” Mavis claimed. “Outré is like the cutting edge. It was my bible of style before I met my honeybear. I still go through it every month, but now I never have to think how I’m going to afford all the friggin’ clothes. Leonardo is the ult.”

“I need five minutes with her.”

“It’s a dunk, Dallas. If she could’ve kissed my ass over the ‘link, I’d have lip dye smears on my butt. Just watch.”

They crossed the wide lobby. It was done in sharp geometric patterns of white, red, and black. Fa

Between them on the walls were screens on which elongated models walked runways in outfits that might have been designed by a mental patient on Pluto.

“Fall fashion shows,” Mavis told her. “New York, Milan, Paris, and London.” She let out a squeal and pointed. “See that? That’s my babycakes’ designs. Nobody comes close.”

Eve studied the ensemble of skintight red stripes that boasted an explosion of gold tail feathers and a transparent skirt that glowed with little white lights at the hem.

How could she argue?

Mavis marched by the data center to the security station that guarded a bank of glossy red elevators. “Mavis Freestone to see Julietta Gates.”

“Yes, Ms. Freestone, you’re to go right up to thirty. Someone will meet you.” The guard’s hand came up to stop Eve and Peabody. “Only Ms. Freestone is cleared for thirty.”

“You don’t really think I travel alone, do you?” Mavis spoke in icy tones before Eve could work up a snarl. “If my entourage isn’t welcome, neither am I.”

“I beg your pardon, Ms. Freestone. I just need to check upstairs.”

“Quickly.” Mavis shot her little nose in the air. “I’m a very busy woman.”

She made a show out of tapping her foot, examining her nails in the twenty seconds it took the guard to clear them.