Innocent in Death (In Death #24)(76)

She lifted the baby now, who wore some sort of dress in pale pink that fell in soft folds and flounces. There were bows in the shape of flowers in the baby’s soft crop of dark hair.

Mavis nestled and swayed, then did a little dancing turn.

And saw Eve.

Her face, soft with mother love, went bright and happy, and told Eve everyone had been exactly right. She should have come here before.

“Poopie?” Eve commented. “You say poopie now?”

“Dallas!” Mavis rushed over in green slippers that were made to look like grinning frogs. With the baby cradled in one arm, she hugged Eve hard with the other. She smelled of powder and lotion. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Just got here.” Eve made the effort, and found it wasn’t as hard as she imagined. She took a good look at the baby. “She’s bigger,” she observed. “Looks more…”

Mavis lifted a glossy black brow. “You were going to say human.”

“Okay, yeah, because she does. She also looks like some of you, some of Leonardo. How do you feel?”

“Tired, happy, weepy, thrilled. Want to hold her?”

“No.”

“For one minute,” Mavis insisted. “You can time it.”

“I could break her.”

“You won’t break her. Sit down first, if you’re nervous about it.”

Trapped, Eve avoided the rainbow chair and took the traditional rocker in neon pink. She braced herself when Mavis leaned over and laid the baby in her arms.

No poopie, at least, Eve reminded herself, and stared down as Belle stared up. “I don’t like the way she’s looking at me. Like she’s planning something.”

“She’s figuring you out, that’s all.” Mavis turned and beamed as Leonardo came in with drinks.

Where he was big—redwood big—Mavis was a pixie. A little ball of energy with an explosion of hair currently the color of ripe apricots. She wore a lounge suit with more frogs hopping over her legs and a crowned one in the middle of her chest.

“You can rock her,” Mavis suggested.

“I’m not moving. Something may happen.” And at that moment, Belle poked out her bottom lip, then scrunched up her pretty face. Then let out a pitiful wail.

“Okay, time’s up,” Eve decided, absolutely. “Come and get her, Mavis.”

“She’s just hungry. I was going to feed her before, but she needed changing first.”

To Eve’s relief, Mavis took the baby and sat in the rainbow chair. Then to Eve’s astonishment, Mavis tugged at the frog prince. Her breast popped out, and Belle’s mouth latched on like a hungry leech.

“Wow.”

“There you are, my baby. There you go. Mommy’s milk train is in the station.”

“You both really got the hang of that.”

“We’re a mag team. Leonardo, would you mind if we had a little all-girl time?”

“Absolutely not.” But he bent first to kiss his wife, then his daughter. “My beauties. My angels. I’ll be right out in my studio if you need me.”

He set something frothy in the holder of the system chair, then gave Eve her wine.

In the ensuing silence all Eve could hear was an active sucking sound.

“So…” Mavis nursed and rocked, nursed and rocked. “Why haven’t I heard any media dirt about a blonde f**khead found floating in the East River?”

Eve lifted her wine, set it down. And did what she’d needed to do all day. She cried like a baby.

“Sorry. Sorry.” When she had herself under some control, she scrubbed her face. “That was bottled up, I guess.” She saw Mavis had tears of sympathy on her cheeks, and had shifted Belle to the other breast. “I shouldn’t be here like this. It probably screws up the milk or something.”

“My milk’s completely uptown. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know. He’s…she’s…Fuck, Mavis. Fuck.”

“You’re not going to tell me Roarke’s doing her, because NPW—no possible way. He wouldn’t. All guys have the small jerk gene, it makes them guys. But only some have the big jerk gene. He doesn’t.”

“No, he’s not doing her. But he used to.”

“I used to pick pockets. You used to arrest me.”

“It’s different.”

“Yeah.”

Eve told her some of it. The red dress, the look she’d caught in Roarke’s eyes, the meeting in her office, and so on.

“Uber bitch came there to flip you.”

“Yeah, she did.” Knowing it, Eve thought, didn’t make it better. “Mission accomplished.”

“Give me, like, a rundown on her. What kind are we dealing with?”

“She’s kick-your-dick-up gorgeous, smart, sexy, sophisticated. Multilingual, rich, slick, and polished.” Eve pushed out of the chair to pace. “She’s a custom fit for him.”

“Bullpoopie.”

“You know what I mean, Mavis. The image. She’s everything I’m not.” Eve threw up her hands. “She’s the anti-me.”

“That’s good. That’s completely mag.”

“Good? Mag? How?”