Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(31)

“I don’t know, but that’s a good description.”

“It can’t be about the case, Dallas. It’s not about Anders. If Charles knew something—”

“No, it’s not about the case. I caught it from him last night before I brought up Anders.”

“Maybe he’s sick.” Worry and distress hitched through the words. “I know how carefully LCs are screened, especially top-levels like Charles, but what if—”

“Peabody, there’s nothing we can do about this. And if he was sick, Louise would know.”

“You’re right. You’re right. It’s just…I love him, you know? Not like love —McNab love, but—”

“I get it. I’ve got a soft spot, too. You can’t know everything there is to know about a friend, or fix every problem. It’s tough knowing they’ve got one, but…”

She trailed off, narrowed eyes staring at a middle distance.

“What?”

“Just thinking of friends. We’ve got time to drop in on the last of the mimosas-for-breakfast trio before I meet with Mira. Let’s see what Sasha has to say.”

Sasha Bride-West wasn’t inclined to say much. She was too busy groaning through crunches under the command of the hunk of beef-cake she introduced as Sven, her personal trainer.

“Ava and Tommy were going through a patch. Have you ever seen a marriage that didn’t? Sven, you’re killing me.”

“Ten more, my warrior. You’ll have abs to slay.”

“I can buy frigging abs.” When he made tsking sounds, she gritted her teeth and kept going. “Anyway, I’ve had three marriages. Not much smooth sailing, plenty of rough road. Seemed to work the opposite for Ava. But when she asked me to recommend a love machine, and to keep it to myself, I gave her a name—guy’s a genius in bed, and damn good company out of it—and kept it to myself.”

She collapsed, panting. “Water, Sven, I’m begging you.”

He offered her a towel first, to mop her face. She dabbed sweat off skin the color of rich caramel cream.

“Did you follow up?”

“You mean did I ask her for the deets after?” Sasha gulped down water, paused, gulped again. “Of course I did. She wouldn’t spill. And I wheedled pretty good.”

Sven took the nearly empty water bottle. “It’s time for your cardio.”

“I hate cardio. Let’s skip it and go straight to the massage.”

“Sasha,” said Sven, severely, and tsked again.

“All right, you sexy sadist.” She pulled herself up off the floor of her home gym to climb on the cross trainer. “Give me Paris, Sven. If I’m going to hike and sprint and step, it might as well be Paris. I was going to go over and see her this afternoon,” Sasha continued as the Arc de Triomphe flashed on her view screen. “But Bridge has it under control, and she’s better with this kind of thing than I am. When Ava’s ready for a distraction—for a trip or good drunk or retail therapy—I’m her girl. Brigit’s the soft shoulder.”

“How was Ava, on this last trip?”

“Good. Fine. Maybe a little tense and moody when we started out, but she chilled. Listen, I can’t talk and do this torment at the same time, so is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Thanks. We’ll see ourselves out.”

As Eve turned away, she heard Sasha curse. “Sven, you bastard! There’s no hills like these on the frigging Champs-Élysées.”

7

THE MORNING INTERVIEWS GAVE EVE A LOT TO chew on. If there’d been time, she’d have done just that, in her office, with her boots on her desk and her eyes on her murder board. But sessions with Mira were gold, and not something she could afford to fluff off.

With Peabody writing up the statements and reports, Eve strode into Mira’s outer office.

“Dr. Mira is running a bit behind today,” the palace guard in the guise of admin informed her.

“How behind is a bit?”

“Only a few minutes.” The woman smiled. “You’re a minute late yourself, so it won’t be long.”

“Fine.” Turning away, Eve screwed up her face and mouthed, You’re a minute late yourself . Then pulling out her ’link called her oldest friend, Mavis Freestone. Seconds later, Mavis’s happy face, surrounded by an explosion of lavender hair, popped on screen.

“Dallas! Guess where we’re going? Me and Belly Button?”

“To hell in a handbasket?”

“To the baby doctor. Yes, we are!” Mavis said in an excited coo. “We’re all clean and shiny and we’re going to the baby doctor so he can look at our little dumpling butt, our magalicious baby girl ears, and our yummy tum-tummy. Isn’t that right, Bellamia? Say hi to Auntie Dallas, sugarcheeks. Say hi.”

Mavis’s face was replaced by the round-cheeked (maybe it did have something to do with sugar), bright-eyed, curly-haired infant Mavis had popped out a couple months before. There were candy-striped ribbons tied in bows in the curls, drool dripping down the pudgy chin, and a huge, gummy grin. “Say hi to Bellaloca, Auntie Dallas.”

“How’s it going, Belle. Mavis.”

“Wave bye-bye, my itsy-bitsy baby-boo. Bye-bye to Auntie Dallas. Give her a cooey-dooey—”