Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“I thought dates went out with the I do’s. Isn’t that in the marriage rule book?”

“You didn’t read the fine print. Christmas Eve, barring emergencies. You and me, in the parlor. We’ll open our gifts, drink a great deal of Christmas cheer, and take turns banging each other’s brains out.”

“Will there be cookies?”

“Without a doubt.”

“I’m there. Gotta go.” She pushed the coffee into his hand. “Peabody’s meeting me at the crime scene.” Then she grabbed his hair, gave it a yank, and gave him a hard, noisy kiss. “See you.”

He was better than hot showers and real coffee for getting the system up and running, she decided. And she had one more thing left to top it off.

She jogged down the stairs, grabbed her coat from the newel post, and sent Summerset a wide, toothy smile as she swirled it on. “Figured out just what to get you for Christmas. A brand-new shiny stick for you to shove up your ass. The one you’ve had up there the past couple decades must be showing some wear.”

She strode out to her car with the smile still on her face. She had to admit, despite a shitty night’s sleep, she wasn’t feeling half bad.

* * *

Peabody was stomping up and down in front of the hotel when Eve pulled up. The way she was eating up sidewalk told Eve she was either trying to walk off a few calories, cold—which didn’t seem possible as she had some sort of long muffler deal wrapped about six times around her neck—or seriously pissed.

It only took one look at her partner’s face to opt for door number three.

“What is that?” Eve demanded.

“What is what?”

“That thing that’s strangling you. Should I call pest control?”

“It’s a scarf. My grandmother wove it, sent it to me, and told me to open it now. So I did.”

Eve pursed her lips, studied the length of zigzagging reds and greens. “Festive.”

“It’s warm, and it’s pretty, and it’s the fricking season, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked. You want me to call that exterminator after all, for the bug crawling around in your ass, or are you getting a thrill out of it?”

“He’s such a jerk. He’s a total and complete asshole. What am I doing cohabbing with that moron?”

“Don’t ask me. Really,” Eve said holding up a hand. “Don’t ask me.”

“Is it my fault we’re in a budget crunch? It is not,” Peabody announced and jabbed a finger in Eve’s face. “Is it my fault his stupid family lives in stupid Scotland? I don’t think so. And so what if we spent a couple of measly days with my family at Thanksgiving?” The snaking scarf flew and billowed when Peabody threw up her hands. “They have the sense to live in the United States of America, don’t they? Don’t they?”

“I don’t know,” Eve said cautiously as Peabody’s eyes seemed to pin-wheel with passion. “There’re a lot of them.”

“Well, they do! And I just mention, just casually mention, that maybe we should stick around home for Christmas. You know, seeing as it’s our first one as a couple—and maybe, considering his attitude, our last. Stupid fuckhead. What are you looking at?” she demanded of a man who glanced her way as he walked by. “Yeah, keep walking. Dumbass man.”

“The dumbass man is an innocent bystander. One of those dumbasses we’re sworn to protect and serve.”

“All men are dumbasses. Every mother’s son. He said I was selfish! He said I wasn’t willing to share. Well, bullshit. Doesn’t he wear my earrings? Doesn’t he—”

>

“If he wears anything else of yours, I really, really don’t want to know about it. We’re on the clock, Peabody.”

“Well, I’m not selfish, and I’m not being stupid. And if it’s so important to him to go roast his damn chestnuts in Scotland, then he can just go. Screw him. I don’t know those people.”

Tears swam now, and had Eve’s stomach going on alert. “No, no, no. No. There’s no crying on the job. No crying on the damn sidewalk in front of a crime scene.”

“His parents, and his family. And his cousin Sheila. You know how he’s always talking about her. I can’t just go over there. I still have five pounds to lose, and I haven’t finished doing this skin-care regimen that’s supposed to shrink my pores—which are currently the circumference of moon craters. And by the time we pay for the flight, we’ll be tapped for a month. We should stay home. Why can’t we just stay home ?”