Thankless in Death (In Death #37)(3)

It made a nice picture, she thought: Roarke, his mane of black hair loose around his wonderfully carved face, that beautiful mouth in a half smile, and his wild blue eyes on her. The dishes from their meal together on the table, and Galahad pretending he didn’t want his nose in the syrup added to the “at-home and liking it” ambience.

“You look pleased with yourself, Lieutenant.”

“I’m pleased,” she said, and added that musical murmur of Ireland in Roarke’s voice to her list of morning enjoyments. “I’ve had a couple of days without a hot one so I’m nearly caught up on paperwork. The quick scan of the weather for today told me I won’t be freezing my ass off, and I’m heading out with a belly-load of waffles. It’s a good day, so far.”

She hooked a brown vest over her shirt—both Roarke approved—then sat to pull on her boots.

“Generally you’d prefer several hot ones over paperwork,” he pointed out.

“We’re heading into the holidays, end of year 2060. You start on that season, you get the wackies. And the nearer I am to finishing my year-end report, the better. The last couple of days have been a walk, so if I get a couple more like that, I—”

“And now you’ve done it.” Shooting her a look of pity, he shook his head. “You’ve jinxed any chance you had.”

“Irish superstition.”

“Common sense. But speaking of Irish and holidays, the family’s coming in on Wednesday.”

“Wednesday?”

“That’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving,” he reminded her. “Some of the cousins are switching off so those who couldn’t come last year will. You said you were fine with it.”

“I am. No, really, I am. I like your family.” He’d only recently found them. He’d lived most of his life, as she had, without blood kin—and the comfort or problems family bring. “I’m just never sure what to do with so many people in the house who aren’t cops.”

“They’ll be busy enough. Apparently there are many plans in the works for shopping, sightseeing, theater, and so on. You’re unlikely to have all of them at once except on Thanksgiving itself. And then there’ll be all the others.”

“Yeah.” She’d agreed to that, too—and it had seemed like a fine idea at the time. All the people who’d come for dinner the previous year, in addition to her partner, Peabody, and Peabody’s main man, McNab, who’d opted not to travel this year.

“It worked okay before.” Shrugging, she got to her feet. “What is it—the more the crazier?”

“I believe it’s merrier, but either way. And with that in mind, I’d like to add four more.”

“Four more what?”

“Guests. Richard DeBlass and family. Elizabeth contacted me just yesterday. He and Elizabeth are bringing the children into New York for the parade.”

“Talk about crazy. Who wants to jump into that crowd?”

“Thousands, or it wouldn’t be a crowd, would it? They’ve booked a hotel suite along the route. I thought it would be nice to invite them to share Thanksgiving dinner. Nixie, especially, wants to see you.”

Eve thought of the girl, the lone survivor when her family had been slaughtered in a home invasion. “Is it a good idea, bringing her back here, to where everything happened over a traditional family holiday?”

“She’s adjusting well, as you know, but she needs the connection. They’ve made a family, the four of them, but they don’t want Nixie to forget the family she lost.”

“She’ll never forget.”

“She’ll not, no.” And he himself would always carry the image of the little girl in the morgue with her head resting on her father’s un-beating heart. “It’s not like you going back to Dallas.” Now he rose, stepped to her. “Revisiting, reliving all that pain and trauma. She had a family who loved her, and was taken from her.”

“So the connection’s important. Okay with me, but nothing’s going to induce me to go to that parade.”

“So noted.” He drew her in, kissed her. “We’ve a lot to be thankful for, you and I.”

“And a houseful of Irish relatives, plus a ravaging horde after turkey and pie are part of that?”

“They are indeed.”

“I’ll let you know on Friday if I agree with that. Now I’ve gotta go.”

“Take care of my cop.”

“Take care of my gazillionaire.”

She left the house resigned to the coming invasion.

What was it with people? Eve wondered. Clogging up her streets, flooding her sidewalks, jamming on glides, swarming cross-walks. What made them pack into New York for holidays?

Didn’t they have homes of their own?

She fought through three nasty knots of traffic on the trip downtown to Cop Central while ad blimps blasted the news from overhead of:

BLACK FRIDAY MEGA-SALES!

GOBBLE UP BARGAINS WHILE THEY LAST!

DOOR-BUSTER HOLIDAY SALES AT THE SKY MALL

She wished to God they’d all go to the sky mall and get out of her city. Snarling with equally pissed drivers at yet another tangle, she watched a quick-fingered street thief make hay with a gaggle of oblivious tourists crowded around a smoking glide-cart.