Page 96 of Delusion in Death

She plugged in the disc Roarke had given her, started to order it on audio. Then gave herself permission to deal with personal business first.

A sleepy-eyed, slurry-voiced Mavis came up on her in-dash screen.

“Hey. Guess I woke you up.”

“Not so much. We’re all having a snuggle. We put in a late night, and Belle woke up early.”

“Okay. Sorry I haven’t been able to get back to you. You texted you were all in Florida. Still?”

“Miami. We zipped down a couple days ago. I had a two-night gig, and Leonardo’s meeting with some totally-too-tanned clients while we’re here. We’re good.”

“Why don’t you stay down there until I get back to you?”

There was a rustle, baby-voiced babbling, and a low rumble that must have been Leonardo. “That’s affirmative.” Mavis shook back her hair, a cotton-candy pink froth sparkling with some sort of silvery overlay. “Weather’s mag, and we got a place with our own pool. Bellarina’s our little mermaid. We got the skinny off screen. What the you-know-what, Dallas.”

“I can’t give you the details, but we’re working it. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

“There’s lots of buzz about terrorism.”

“It’s not, but it’s messy. Just stay sunny.”

“Totally, but—okay, sweet potato. Bella hears your voice. Hang a mo.”

“Das!” Belle’s pretty face popped on screen. Eve had a flash of that pretty face, with tears streaming.

“Hey, kid.”

“Das, Das, Das,” she repeated, and bouncing launched into a long, incomprehensible babble, ending with, “Kay? Kay, Das?”

“Ah, sounds good. You do that.”

“Say bye, Belle. Bye-bye.”

“Bye, bye, Das! Bye slooch!”

Lips pursed, Belle pecked kisses at the screen. Sliding her gaze right and left—in case any other driver might catch a glimpse—Eve gave a single peck back. “See ya.”

“Ya!”

“She wants you to watch her swim,” Mavis said.

“How do you know that?”

“I’m multilingual-like. I speak Belle.”

“If you say so. Gotta go.”

“Stay chilly, stay safe.”

“That’s the plan. Talk later.”

Satisfied, oddly relieved, Eve ordered the disc to audio. She listened to data on the MacMillons the rest of the way to Central.

She tagged Peabody the minute she’d parked in the garage. “Where are you?”

“Walking into Central.”

“Grab me a coffee—real coffee from my office—then meet me in the conference room. I need to fill you in.”