Memory in Death (In Death #22)(6)

Eve walked through the bull pen and to her office.

It was a stingy room with barely any space for the desk, a spare chair, and the skinny pane of glass masquerading as a window. She didn't have any problem spotting the woman.

She sat in the spare chair, sipping coffee from a recyclable cup. Her hair was reddish blond, worn in a cap that had apparently exploded into curls. Her skin was very white, except for the pink on her cheeks, the pink on her lips. Her eyes were grass green.

Middle fifties, Eve judged, filing it all away in a fingersnap. A big-boned body in a green dress with black collar and cuffs. Black heels, and the requisite enormous black purse sitting neatly on the floor by her feet.

She squeaked when Eve came in, nearly spilled the coffee, then hastily set it aside.

"There you are!"

She leaped up, the pink in her face deepening, her eyes going bright. There was a twang to her voice, and something in it set Eve's nerves on edge.

"Mrs. Lombard? You're not allowed to wander around the offices."

"I just wanted to see where you worked. Why, honey, just look at you." She rushed forward, and would have had Eve in an embrace if Eve's reflexes weren't so quick.

"Hold it. Who are you? What do you want?"

Those green eyes widened, went swimming. "Why, honey, don't you know me? I'm your mama!"

2

COLD RIMED HER BELLY, FROSTED ITS WAY UP to her throat. She couldn't breathe through the ice of it. The woman's arms were around her now; she was powerless to stop them. She was smothered by them, by the overwhelming scent of roses. And the teary voice—Texas, Texas twang— pounded in her head like vicious fists.

Through it she could hear her desk link beep. She could hear the chatter from the bull pen. She hadn't closed the door. God, the door was open, and anyone could...

Then it was all noise, a buzzing hive of hornets in her head. They stung at her chest and brought back the heat, a breathless roll of it that washed through her and grayed her vision.

No, you're not. No, you're not. You're not.

Was that her voice? It was so small, a child's voice. Were the words outside her head, or just buzzing there like the bees?

She got her hands up, somehow she got them up and pushed at the soft, plump arms that clamped around her. "Let go of me. Let go."

She stumbled back, very nearly ran. "I don't know you." She stared at the face, but she couldn't make out the features any longer. It was a blur, just color and shape. "I don't know you."

"Eve, honey, it's Trudy! Oh, look at me crying like I had to water the cats." She sniffled, pulled a wide pink handkerchief out of some pocket, dabbed. "Silly, just silly old me. I figured you'd know me the second you saw me, just the way I did you. 'Course it has been more than twenty years, between us girls." She gave Eve a watery smile. "I expect I show a few of them."

"I don't know you," Eve repeated, very carefully. "You're not my mother."

Trudy's lashes fluttered. There was something behind them, something in those eyes, but Eve couldn't quite focus.

"Sugar pie, you really don't remember? You and me and Bobby in our sweet little house in Summervale? Just north of Lufkin?"

There was a dull buzz of memory, just on the corner of her mind. But it was making her ill to search for it. "After..."

"You were such a quiet little thing, no bigger than two cents' worth of soap. Of course, you'd had a horrible time of it, hadn't you, honey? Poor little lamb. I said I could be a good mama to that poor little lamb, and I took you right on home with me."

"Foster care." Her lips felt bruised, swollen by the words. "After."

"You do remember!" Trudy's hands fluttered up to her cheeks. "I swear, hardly a day's gone by in all these years I haven't thought of you and wondered how you'd turned out. And just look! A policewoman, living in New York City. Married, too. No babies of your own yet, though?"

Sickness roiling in her belly. Fear scratching at her throat. "What do you want?"

"Why, to catch up with my girl." The voice was a trill, almost a song. "Bobby's with me. He's married now, and Zana's the sweetest thing on two legs. We came up from Texas to see the sights, and find our little girl. We have to have ourselves a real reunion. Bobby'll take the whole bunch of us out to dinner."

She sat back in the chair again, smoothed at her skirts while she studied Eve's face. "My, my, you grew up tall, didn't you? Still skinny as a snake, but it looks good on you. God knows I'm forever trying to shake off a few pounds. Bobby now, he's got his daddy's build—which is just about the only thing that no-account ever gave him, or me, for that matter. Just wait till he sees you!"

Eve stayed on her feet. "How did you find me?"

"Well, it's the damnedest thing, excuse my French. There I was puttering around my kitchen. You'll remember I set store by a clean kitchen. I had the screen on for company, and they were talking about those doctors who got murdered, and that cloning. Sin against God and humanity, you ask me, and I was about to switch to something else, but it was so interesting somehow. Why, the teeth nearly dropped out of my head when I saw you talking on there. They had your name, too, right there. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, New York City Police and Security Department. You're a heroine, that's what they said. And you'd been wounded, too. Poor little lamb. But you look to be fit now. You're looking very fit."