Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“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.”

There was a woman sitting in her visitor’s chair. Red hair, green eyes, lips curved in a smile of sweet sentiment. Eve saw a monster, fanged and clawed. One that didn’t need to wait for the dark.

“You need to go. You have to go now.”

“You must be busy as a one-armed paper hanger, and here I am just babbling on. You just tell me where you want to have dinner, and I’ll get on, have Bobby make some reservations.”

“No. No. I remember you.” A little, some. It was easy to let it haze. It was necessary. “I’m not interested. I don’t want to see you.”

“What a thing to say.” The voice registered hurt, but the eyes were hard now. “What a way to be. I took you into my home. I was a mama to you.”

“No, you weren’t.” Dark rooms, so dark. Cold water. I set store by a clean kitchen.

No. Don’t think now. Don’t remember now.

“You’re going to want to go now, right now. Quietly. I’m not a helpless child anymore. So you’re going to want to go, and keep going.”

“Now, Eve, honey—”

“Get out, get out. Now.” Her hands were shaking so that she balled them into fists to hide the tremors. “Or I’ll put you in a fucking cage. You’ll be the one in a cage, I swear it.”

Trudy picked up her purse, and a black coat she’d hung over the back of the chair. “Shame on you.”

Her eyes as she walked by Eve were wet with tears. And hard as stone.

Eve started to close the door, to lock it. But the room was overwhelmed with the scent of roses. Her stomach clenched, so she braced her hands on her desk until the worst of the nausea passed.

“Sir, the woman who was… Lieutenant? Sir, are you all right?”

She shook her head at Trueheart’s voice, waved him back. Digging for control, she straightened. She had to hold on, hold onto herself, until she got out. Got away. “Tell Detective Peabody something’s come up. I have to go.”

“Lieutenant, if there’s anything I can do—”

“I just told you what to do.” Because she couldn’t bear the concern on his face, she left her desk, the unanswered ‘link, the messages, the paperwork, arrowed straight through the bull pen, ignoring the hails.

She had to get out, outside. Away. Sweat was sliding down her back as she jumped on the first glide down. She could swear she felt her own bones trembling, and the cartilage in her knees sloshing, but she kept going. Even when she heard Peabody call her name, she kept going.

“Wait, wait! Whoa. What’s the matter? What happened?”

“I have to go. You’ll have to handle Zero, the PA. Next of kin of the victims may be calling in for more answers. They usually do. You have to deal with them. I have to go.”