Brotherhood in Death (In Death 42)

“I’ll bet you haven’t had lunch.”

The segue threw Eve off balance. “We aren’t really—”

“You have to eat. I’m going to make sandwiches.”

“Mr. Mira, I’m sorry, but we need to ask you some questions. I need to interview you, on the record. I need to read you your rights.”

“You’re not treating him like a suspect.” Gillian shoved off the arm of the sofa, an arrow yanked from the quiver.

“Gillian, I explained this to you.” Mira rubbed Dennis’s thigh, rose. “It’s procedure, and has to be done.”

“I don’t care about procedure.”

“I have to,” Eve said, then looked at Dennis. “I’m sorry. I have to.”

“Of course you do. But you also need to eat. We can do this in the kitchen while I make sandwiches.”

“Dad, I made soup, remember?”

“That’s right, of course, that’s right.” He got to his feet in his baggy green cardigan and tousled hair. “Gilly makes wonderful soup. It’s potato leek, isn’t it?”

“Chicken and rice.”

“That’s right. Potato leek was last time. Soup’s a comfort,” he said to Eve. “We could all use it.”

Eve couldn’t say no, just couldn’t make herself draw the hard line with him. So she ended up in the big kitchen with the comfort of soup scenting the air, sitting across from him in the breakfast nook with the winter sun eking pale through the windows.

“You eat a bit first, both of you,” he said when Gillian set bowls in front of them. “Charlie tells me that nice young policeman was promoted today.”

“Trueheart. He got his detective’s shield.”

“Good for him. He’s a nice young man.

Bright, I take it?”

“He is. He’s a good cop.” She ate because it was there. “It’s nice soup.”

“It really is.” Peabody glanced at Gillian. “The sage really makes it. My granny always uses sage in hers.”

“You like to cook?”

“Bake mostly, when I have time. It’s relaxing.”

Eve let the small talk circle around her. She should cut it off. She shouldn’t be cozied up here in the kitchen with soup and conversation. She should—

Dennis reached over, patted her hand. “You mustn’t worry. You mustn’t worry about doing your job. I want to help you find whoever gave Edward a hard death.”

“Mr. Mira, you’re not a suspect. Nobody thinks you had anything to do with this. But we have to go through this, and some of the questions I have to ask are going to be pointed, they’re going to feel hard and intimidating. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry. You go ahead—but finish your soup first.” He shifted to Peabody. “And how is your young man? I like him quite a lot. He’s so colorful.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s great.”

Eve finished her soup, caught Mira’s eye and the quiet gratitude in it. So maybe it had been the right thing, just to give Mr. Mira time to settle.

“I’m going to make hot chocolate,” Dennis announced. “You like my hot chocolate,” he said to Eve.

“Who wouldn’t, but—”