Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“I’ve got these things. Just some things I picked up.”

“Thank you. Just sit. I’m going to get you some wine.”

“I don’t want to hold you up from—”

“Please. Sit.”

She laid the gifts on the coffee table beside a big silver bowl full of pine cones and red berries.

She’d been right about the mountain of gifts, Eve noted. There had to be a hundred packages under the tree. How many was that each? she wondered. How many of the Miras were there, anyway? They were kind of a horde. Might be almost twenty of them altogether, so…

She got to her feet as Dennis Mira strolled in.

“Sit, sit, sit. Charlie said you were here. Just came in to see you. Wonderful party last night.”

He was wearing a cardigan. Something about the scruffy look of it with one of its buttons dangling from a loose thread turned her heart to mush.

He smiled, and since she continued to stand, walked to stand beside her and turned that dreamy smile toward the tree. “Charlie won’t go for fake. Every year I tell her we ought to buy a replica, and every year she says no. I’m always glad.”

He stunned Eve by draping an arm over her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Nothing ever seems too bad, too hard or too sad when you’ve got a Christmas tree in the living room. All those presents under it, all that anticipation. Just a way of saying there’s always light and hope in the world. And you’re lucky enough to have a family to share it with.”

Her throat had snapped shut. She found herself doing something she’d never have believed, and even as she did it, she couldn’t see herself doing it.

She turned into him, pressed her face to his shoulder, and wept.

He didn’t seem the least surprised, and only stroked and patted her back. “There now. That’s all right, sweetheart. You’ve had a hard day.”

She hitched in a breath, drew away, appalled. “I’m sorry. Jesus, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s… I should go.”

But he had her hand. However soft and sweet he appeared, he had a grip like iron. “You just sit down here. I’ve got a handkerchief. I think.” He began patting his pockets, digging into them with that vague and baffled expression.

It settled her more than a soother. She laughed, rubbed her face dry. “That’s okay. I’m fine. I’m sorry. I really need to—”

“Have some wine,” Mira said, and crossed the room with a tray.

As it was obvious she’d seen the outburst, Eve’s embarrassment only increased.

“I’m a little off, that’s all.”

“Hardly a wonder.” Mira set the tray down, picked up one of the glasses. “Sit down and relax. I’d like to open my present, if that’s all right.”

“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Um…” She picked up Dennis’s gift. “I came across this, thought you might be able to use it.”

He beamed like a ten-year-old who’d just found a shiny red airbike under the tree. And the twinkle didn’t fade when he drew out the scarf. “Look at this, Charlie. This ought to keep me warm when I take my walks.”

“And it looks just like you. And, oh! Look at this.” Mira lifted out the antique teapot. “It’s gorgeous. Violets,” she murmured, tracing a finger over the tiny painted flowers that twined around the white china pot. “I love violets.”

She actually cooed over it, Eve realized, as some women tended to do over small, drooling babies.

“I figured you’re into tea, so—”

“I love it. I absolutely love it.” Mira rose, rushed over and kissed Eve on both cheeks. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“I think I’m going to try my gift out right now, have myself a little walk.” Dennis rose. He walked over, bent down to Eve, tapped her chin. “You’re a good girl and a smart woman. Talk to Charlie.”

“I didn’t mean to run him off,” Eve said after Dennis left the room.