Brotherhood in Death (In Death #42)(34)

He turned, took mugs from a cupboard. “Some mistake a mild disposition for weakness. Do you?”

“No, sir, I don’t.”

“I can—my family will attest—be extremely stubborn when something is important.”

From across the room Gillian made a little snorting sound that had a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“A promise to a man I loved deeply is important, even sacred. I didn’t have to hurt Edward to keep it; I simply had to continue to keep it. I’m not a violent man.”

He poured the rich hot chocolate into the mugs. “And while I didn’t like Edward, didn’t like the man he’d become, I loved him.”

“Professor Mira, would you give me your whereabouts from eleven last night to three-thirty this morning?”

“Right here—or not right here, in the kitchen, that is. In the house. Charlie, my wife, insisted I go to bed early. I can be quite the night owl as a rule. But she was right, I was very tired. I believe I went to bed by ten. She doesn’t think I know she was checking on me every couple hours.”

He smiled, sweetly, toward the breakfast nook. “And our daughter Gillian snuck in twice to make sure I hadn’t lapsed into a coma—which is exactly what she said to her mother at about midnight. I didn’t sleep very well. I did rest,” he added quickly, with another glance toward the nook, as he piled whipped cream on top of two mugs of hot chocolate. “But I was worried about Edward, and didn’t sleep very well.”

“Okay. Okay. Thank you for your time and cooperation. Record off.”

Dennis sprinkled chocolate shavings over the cream, then put the mugs in front of Peabody and Eve.

“Stand up,” he said to Eve.

She got to her feet, braced.

“You need a hug.” He wrapped his arms around her, and melted everything inside her. “There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“It was horrible.”

“Well, that’s all right. It’s all done.”

“I’m so—”

“Hush. You sit and drink your chocolate.”

“I could use a hug.”

Dennis beamed at Peabody, obliged. “You’re a good girl,” he told her. “Gilly, Charlie, come on now. I made enough for everyone.”

Mira walked over, framed his face with her hands. “I love you, Dennis.”

“It’s a good thing. Where would I be otherwise?”

“You sit down. I’ll put the rest of these together.”

As she dolloped on the whipped cream, Mira looked over at Eve. “You did exactly right. It was hard for you, hard for me to listen to. But you did exactly right.”

“Sorry, but will you just say it—that you know he was here during the aforesaid hours.”

“I absolutely do. He’s right. I did check on him every couple hours, and Gilly went to check on him just before midnight, and again around three. We thought he was sleeping.”

“You’d have started poking at me again if you’d known I was awake.”

“He’s right about that, too. Do you believe it was a woman?”

“There had to be at least two involved, and one of them was a woman. I’m sure of that, and Mr. Mira gave that some weight.”

“He’s never been a suspect,” Gillian put in.

“No. There’s no motive, no opportunity. I just needed it all spelled out on the record. It’s going to be a feeding frenzy in the media. With this on record, Mr. Mira is firmly, unquestionably a witness.”

“I just want to say something.” Peabody, eyes closed, took another sip from her mug. “This is the Holy Grail of hot chocolate. Mr. Mira, you’re a genius, but I don’t know how I’m going to settle for the sludge at Central ever again.”

“Knock it back, Peabody. We’ve got to get back to work.”

It took a little time—Peabody wanted to savor—but even with the extra, Eve felt lighter when Gillian walked them back, got their coats.

“I’m going to apologize for wanting to smack you even though I could see it was hard for you to push at him that way.”

“I want to smack people all the time. And he’s your father.”

“I love my husband, and one of the many reasons is he’d agree with me when I say my father is the best man I know. You’re a little bit in love with him.”

“Probably more than a little.”

“And you’re going to look out for him.”

“That’s a promise.”

“All right then. Bright blessings on both of you, and safe travels wherever the path takes you.”

As they hiked back to the car, Eve shoved her hands in her pockets, found her gloves again. Tugged them on. “Plot us a sensible route to hit the sidepieces.”

“Already done, and you can cross off Allyson Byson, for now anyway. She’s been in St. Lucia for the past week with her husband and several friends. It’s an annual thing. Spends six weeks there every winter.”

“Very tidy alibi. We’ll look into her otherwise.”

“We should start with Carlee MacKensie—he played with her right before he hooked up with Downing. Freelance writer.”

When they got into the car, Peabody plugged the address into the in-dash. “Then we’d go to Asha Coppola, to Lauren Canford, and finish with Charity Downing, the latest.”