Memory in Death (In Death #22)(59)

So why was she depressed? It dragged at the base of her skull, at the pit of her belly as she parked the car, pushed herself out. She wanted to lie down, she realized, and not because she was tired. She just wanted to shut her head down for five damn minutes.

Summerset was there, a dour skeleton amid the festive colors of the grand foyer.

"Roarke is in his office, attending to some of your business."

In her current mood, the disapproval scraped over the weight in her belly. "Nobody held a stunner to his throat," she snapped. "Which is what I dream of doing to you, night after night."

She stomped upstairs without bothering to take off her coat.

She didn't go to the office, which was petty and wrong. She knew it. But instead she went straight to the bedroom and, still in her coat, dropped facedown on the bed.

Five minutes, she thought. She was entitled to five damn minutes of solitude and quiet. If only she could shut off her head.

Seconds later, she heard the rapid pad of little feet, then the vibration of the bed as Galahad made his leap. She turned her head, stared into his bicolored eyes.

He stared back. Then did a couple of lazy circles, curled up by her head, and stared some more. She found herself trying to out-stare him, to make him blink first.

When she lost, she thought he smirked.

"Pal, if you were a cop, you'd crack suspects like walnuts."

She shifted so she could scratch his ears. With the cat purring like a souped-up engine, she watched the lights glimmer on the bedroom tree.

It was a good deal she had here, she told herself. Big bed, pretty tree, nice cat. What was wrong with her?

She barely heard him come in, probably wouldn't have if she hadn't been listening for him.

When the mattress depressed, she turned her head again. This time she stared into eyes of wild and vivid blue.

Yeah, a pretty good deal.

"I was coming in," she murmured. "I just wanted a couple minutes."

"Headache?"

"No. I'm just... I don't know."

He stroked a hand over her hair. "Sad?"

"What have I got to be sad about? I've got this big-ass house. Did you see how it looks all lit up?"

"Yes." His hand moved down to the nape of her neck where some of the weight lay.

"I've got this fat cat hanging around. I think we should torment him on Christmas, make him wear some of those antler things. You know, like a reindeer."

"Undermine his dignity. Good idea."

"I've got you. The icing on my personal cake. I don't know what's wrong with me." She curled into him, burrowed into him. "I don't even care that she's dead, so what's wrong with me?"

"You're too hard on yourself, that's what's wrong with you."

She breathed him in, because it was a comfort. "I went to the morgue and looked at her. Just another body. I looked at what she did to herself, to try to screw with us. And it disgusted me. Didn't surprise me—not once I thought about it. I looked at what someone else did to her, and it was like: Well, what goes around. I'm not supposed to think that."

"What else did you do?"

"Today? Reported to Whitney. Got a little spanking there. Had lunch with Nadine to get her to spin the connection up front. Hit the lab. Followed the fabric trail to a retail outlet where Trudy bought the socks she used to make a sap. I got a list of banks between there and the hotel. Figure she had to get the credits. Check that tomorrow.

Went by the bar where Zana was taken, talked to the owner. Reviewed the discs. Um... updated reports. Checked in on Bobby and Zana. Good security at the hotel. You've got a solid frontman in your lobby."

"Good to know."

"Then I came home. Other stuff in there, but that's the gist."

"In other words, you did your job. Whether or not you care she's dead, you did the work that will lead you to her killer."

She rolled over, stared up at the ceiling. "I've got no juice."

"What did you have for lunch?"

She gave a half laugh. "Taking my mind off my pity party? This pasta thing with some sort of herb stuff. It was good. Whatever Nadine and Peabody chowed on, they made a lot of girl yummy noises. The place was swinging, so I guess you've got a hit. Big surprise."

"The service?"

"Spooky. The waiter sort of poofs at the table out of nowhere if you even think about wanting something. Nadine's getting her own show."

"I heard about that just today. Good for her."

"And she's got vid and book deals. You in on any of that?"

"As a matter of fact."

"She wants to interview me, which maybe. And wants to do some of the vid here at the house, which is definitely no."

"Definitely."

She turned her head again to look at his face. How could one man be so beautiful, day after day? "I figured we'd line up in the same column on that."

"This is home." His hand stroked over hers, then lay, quiet and warm, over it. "It's private."

"I'm always bringing work home. Doing work here."

"As am I."

"You don't fill it with cops on top of it."

"I don't. And certainly don't plan to in the future. If I had a problem with you doing so, I'd let you know."