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Eve whipped her hand clear, tucked it safely behind her back as Mavis laughed. And her own hands gently caressed her belly as she looked toward the stairs. “Hi, Dr. Mira.”
“Mavis. I’d say you’re glowing, but I’ve never known you otherwise. I will say you look wonderfully healthy.”
“Feeling TIT these days. Totally In Tune.”
“I didn’t know you were already here,” Eve said.
“A few minutes before you. I’ve been upstairs speaking to Roarke. He’ll be right down. Ms. Barrister, Mr. DeBlass, and their son have just been cleared through the gate.”
“I’ll go keep Nixie entertained.” Mavis gave Eve a bolstering pat on the arm and swirled her way into the parlor. “Hit it, Nix!” she called out, and there was a blast of what could be called, in some cultures, music.
“I guess that’s showtime,” Eve declared, and walked to the front door.
22
IT WAS AN ODD GROUP UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, Eve supposed. Odder yet when she was trying to pay attention to the chitchat, watch the kid for reactions, structure a major operation, coordinate her team, and play hostess.
Richard and Elizabeth had weathered the storm of murder, scandal, and horror, and looked the stronger for it. She watched them both engage Nixie in conversation, together and separately. The kid was polite, and distracted enough, Eve thought, by both Mavis and a child near her own age, to enjoy herself.
It was a strange group. But from the sound of conversation, Eve seemed to be the only one who thought so.
She slipped away long enough to check on Peabody’s progress with the real estate angle, and thought it showed strength of character to leave the comfort of cop work to head back down to social hour.
Elizabeth Barrister waylaid her in the foyer. “She’s a beautiful child.”
“She’s got spine.”
“She must, and she’ll need it as time goes on. Grief comes in waves. Just when you think you’ve weathered one, another swamps you again.”
Elizabeth Barrister, Eve thought, knew plenty about grief. “It’s a lot to take on, from your position.”
Elizabeth shook her head as she glanced toward the parlor. “We made mistakes, Richard and I. So many. Too many. And we’ve accepted that our daughter paid for them.”
“Senator DeBlass was responsible.”
“From your position,” Elizabeth agreed. “But she was our child, and we made mistakes. We’ve been given another chance with Kevin. He’s lit up our lives.”
There was no question of that, Eve noted, when just saying his name lit Elizabeth’s face.
“We’d give Nixie a home, if she wants it. Give her a chance to heal. We’d be good for her, I think. Kevin certainly would. They’re already making friends. She’s been telling him about the game room, which is, apparently, the ult. I wonder if I could take them in for a while.”
“Sure. I’ll show you where it is.”
Eve remembered Kevin as a scrawny kid of about six with ragged clothes and a bony cat in tow. He’d filled out, cleaned up, grown a couple of inches, and showed a gap-toothed grin as he clutched a pudgy Galahad in his arms.
“He’s fat,” Kevin said cheerfully. “But he’s soft.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Galahad aimed his dual-colored eyes at Eve in a way that promised payback for the indignity. “You don’t have to carry him.”
“I like to. I have a cat named Dopey, and now I have a puppy, too, named Butch. I go to school and I eat like a horse.”
Behind them, Elizabeth laughed. “He certainly does.”
“If I had a horse.” The way Kevin slid his eyes slyly in his mother’s direction told Eve he knew where the butter was best slathered. “I would ride him like a cowboy.”
“One step at a time, little man. Let’s see how you handle Butch. Do you like horses, Nixie?”
“I got to pet one that pulls a carriage around the park. It was nice.”
