Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“Name?”

“Lombard. Mrs. Lombard.”

“Well, if you round her up, let me know.”

“Dallas? I’ll write up the report. I’d like to,” Peabody added. “Feels like taking it all the way through.”

“I’ll remind you of that when this goes to court.”

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!”

* * *

Chapter 2

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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.