Treachery in Death (In Death 32)

“So she told me—I guess.”

Mavis pulled a heart-covered bib out of the bag, whipped it around Bella’s neck. “They’re kinda messy.”

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Dumped her in my lap and poofed.”

Mavis giggled, lifted her shoulders. “Busted. But I did pee.”

“Why?”

“Because my bladder asked me to.”

“Mavis.”

“Because she loves you, and because you’ve pretty much stopped holding her at arm’s length like she’s a boomer full of poop.”

“Poop is sometimes involved.”

“True.” Mavis took a quick sniff. “But not now. She can say your name.” To prove it Mavis gave Eve a kiss on the cheek. “Dallas.”

“Das!” Bella squealed and stroked a gooey hand where her mother had kissed.

On a strangled sound, Eve started to swipe the goo off with the heel of her hand, but Mavis pulled a damp wipe out of a packet.

“That’s my name?”

“It’s the clos

est she can come to Dallas right now. She can’t manage Peabody, but she’s got McNab.”

“Nab!” Bella waved her dripping biscuit in triumph.

“And she’s got Roarke.”

“Ork!”

“Ork.” That tickled a laugh out of Eve, and the sound had the baby sending out a chant.

“Ork! Ork! Ork!” Then damned if the kid didn’t take a bow.

“Jesus, Mavis, she’s you all over.”

“With her daddy’s sweet, sweet heart.” Mavis pulled a rainbow-hued blanket out of the apparently bottomless bag. After spreading it on the floor, she took Bella, plopped her on it.

“Okay if I close the door? In case she starts to motor.”

“Good idea.”

Mavis shut the door, then dropped down in Eve’s visitor’s chair. With the baby at her feet, she crossed her legs. “So, how’d I do?”

“Good job, Candy.”

“Not too OTT? Over the top,” Mavis translated. “I decided to plug in the Brooklyn and the tits when I was putting it together this morning. Just a little jazz.”

“Both were impressive. I barely recognized you myself. You haven’t lost your skills.”

“Felt mag, too, gotta confess. Sliding back in and duping a mark. Temporarily,” she added, “and for a righteous cause.”

“Check.”