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“Cops in the house,” Gillian said, but lightly, before she walked over to sit on the arm of the sofa by her father.
United front.
“We’re sorry, Mr. Mira,” Eve began, “for your loss.”
“Thank you. Edward and I... our relationship wasn’t what it had been, but I remember the boy he was. The boys we were together. It was a hard death?”
He looked at her with those kind green eyes. She wanted to lie to him, give him that much. But she couldn’t spare him. “Yes, it was.”
“It’s odd, even with Charlotte’s work, and knowing what people can and will do to people, you never expect it to happen to one of your own. Despite our differences, Edward was my family. You’ve spoken to Mandy?”
“We were just there.”
“She won’t answer her ’link,” Mira explained. “Dennis is concerned about her.”
“She...” How to put it? Eve wondered.
“Her personal security was contacting her children,” Peabody put in.
“That’s good.” He patted Gillian’s knee. “They’re a comfort. I know she’s a difficult woman. You’re too polite to say.”
“I’m not all that polite,” Eve said, making him laugh, just a little.
“I’ll bet you haven’t had lunch.”
The segue threw Eve off balance. “We aren’t really—”
“You have to eat. I’m going to make sandwiches.”
“Mr. Mira, I’m sorry, but we need to ask you some questions. I need to interview you, on the record. I need to read you your rights.”
“You’re not treating him like a suspect.” Gillian shoved off the arm of the sofa, an arrow yanked from the quiver.
“Gillian, I explained this to you.” Mira rubbed Dennis’s thigh, rose. “It’s procedure, and has to be done.”
“I don’t care about procedure.”
“I have to,” Eve said, then looked at Dennis. “I’m sorry. I have to.”
“Of course you do. But you also need to eat. We can do this in the kitchen while I make sandwiches.”
“Dad, I made soup, remember?”
“That’s right, of course, that’s right.” He got to his feet in his baggy green cardigan and tousled hair. “Gilly makes wonderful soup. It’s potato leek, isn’t it?”
“Chicken and rice.”
“That’s right. Potato leek was last time. Soup’s a comfort,” he said to Eve. “We could all use it.”
Eve couldn’t say no, just couldn’t make herself draw the hard line with him. So she ended up in the big kitchen with the comfort of soup scenting the air, sitting across from him in the breakfast nook with the winter sun eking pale through the windows.
“You eat a bit first, both of you,” he said when Gillian set bowls in front of them. “Charlie tells me that nice young policeman was promoted today.”
“Trueheart. He got his detective’s shield.”
“Good for him. He’s a nice young man. Bright, I take it?”
“He is. He’s a good cop.” She ate because it was there. “It’s nice soup.”
