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"What place doesn't?"
"Right." She frowned, paced. "I did a run on that Cassandra—the Greek one. It said how she was given her gift of prophecy by Apollo."
"I'd say this group enjoys symbolism." He glanced toward the doorway when he heard voices. "That'll be Peabody. Put it out of your mind for a couple of hours, Eve. It might help."
Roarke walked over to greet Peabody, to tell her she looked lovely, to shake hands with Zeke. He was so damn smooth, Eve thought. It never failed to fascinate her how he could shift from mode to mode without a single visible hitch.
Beside Zeke—gangling, his smile awkward as he struggled very obviously not to gawk—the contrast was only more marked.
"Give her the thing, Zeke," Peabody demanded and added a quick, sisterly jab in the ribs.
"Oh yeah. It's not much of anything." He offered that shy smile to Eve, then took a small wood carving out of his pocket. "Dee said you had a cat."
"Well, one lets us live here." Eve found herself grinning down at a thumb-sized carving of a sleeping cat. It was rough and simple and cleverly done. "And this, next to eating, is what he does best. Thanks, it's great."
"Zeke makes them."
"Just for fun," he added. "I saw your vehicle outside. It looks a little rough."
"It sounds rougher."
"I can take a look at it, tinker around."
"I'd appreciate it." She started to suggest he do just that, now, when she caught Roarke's warning look and bit the words back. "Ah, let me get you a drink first."
Damn party manners, she thought.
"Just some water, or juice maybe. Thanks. There's beautiful work in this house," he said to Roarke.
"Yes, there is. We'll show you through after dinner." He ignored Eve's grimace and smiled. "Most of the wood is original. I appreciate craftsmen who build to last."
"I didn't realize so much of the nineteenth- and twentieth-century interior work was left in an urban area like this. When I saw the Branson home today, I was just staggered. But this—"
"You were at the Bransons'?" Eve had finished scratching her head over the choices of juice Summerset had arranged. She poured something rose-colored into a glass.
"I called this morning to express my condolences and to ask if they'd prefer to postpone the work they'd contracted for." He took the glass she offered with a smile of thanks. "But Mrs. Branson said they'd appreciate it if I'd come by and look things over today. This afternoon, after the memorial service. She said the project might help take their minds off things."
"Zeke says they have a fully equipped workshop on the lower level." Peabody wiggled her eyebrows at Eve. "Apparently B. Donald likes to putter."
"Runs in the family."
"I still haven't met him," Zeke put in. "Mrs. Branson showed me around." He'd spent time with her, just a little time. And his system was still revving on it. "I'll get started tomorrow, work right there in the house."
"And get roped into doing odd jobs," Peabody said.
"I don't mind. Maybe I should go take a look at the car, see what I can do." He looked at Roarke. "Do you have any tools I could borrow?"
"I think I have what you need. They're not Branson, I'm afraid. I use Steelbend."
"Branson's good," Zeke said soberly. "Steelbend's better."
Sending his wife a blinding smile, Roarke laid a hand on Zeke's shoulder. "Let's go see what we've got."
"Isn't he great?" Peabody sent a look of affection after her brother. "Twenty minutes at the Bransons' and he was repairing some plumbing blip. There's nothing Zeke can't fix."
"If he can keep that car out of the hands of the monkeys in maintenance, I'll owe him for life."
"He'll do it."
