He smiled then, slow and easy. She could see the resemblance now, between him and Peabody's brother. The narrow, apostle's face, the eyes of dreamy gray. But there was something sharp in Sam Peabody's eyes, something that had Eve's neck prickling.
This man wasn't the puppy dog his son was.
"Give him mine when you talk to him. Peabody, take some personal time."
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
"That's very kind of you," Phoebe said. "I wonder if it's possible for us to have a little of your time. You must be busy," she went on before Eve could speak, "but I'd hoped we might have a meal together tonight. With you and your husband. We have gifts for you."
"You don't have to give us anything."
"The gifts aren't from obligation but from affection, and we hope you'll enjoy them. Delia's told us so much about you, and Roarke and your home. It must be a magnificent place. I hope Sam and I will have an opportunity to see it."
Eve could feel the box being built around her, see the lid slowly closing. And Phoebe only continued to smile serenely while Peabody suddenly took an avid interest in the ceiling.
"Sure. Ah. You could come for dinner."
"We'd love to. Would eight o'clock work?"
"Yeah, eight's fine. Peabody knows the way. Anyway, welcome to New York. I've got some ... stuff," she finished lamely and eased back to escape.
"Lieutenant? Sir? Be right back," Peabody murmured to her parents and lit out after Eve. Before they'd gotten to her office door, the noise level in the bullpen rose again.
"They can't help it," Peabody said quickly. "My father really likes to bake, and he's always bringing food places."
"How the hell'd they get all that here on a plane?"
"Oh, they don't fly. They'd have come in their camper. Baking all the way," she added with a fluttery smile. "Aren't they great?"
"Yeah, but you've got to tell them not to bring cupcakes every time they come in to see you. We'll end up with a bunch of fat detectives in sugar comas."
"Snagged you one." Peabody brought out the cupcake she held behind her back. I'll just take a couple hours, Dallas, get them settled in."
"Take the rest of the day."
"Okay. Thanks. Really. Um ..." She winced, then closed the office door. "There's this thing I should tell you. About my mother. She has the power."
"The power of what?"
"The power to make you do things you don't want to do, or don't think you want to do. And she'll get you to say stuff you don't mean to say. And you may even babble."
"I don't babble."
"You will," Peabody said mournfully. "I love her. She's amazing, but she's got this thing. She just looks at you and knows."
Frowning, Eve sat. "Is she a sensitive?"
"No. My father is, but he's really strict about not infringing on people's privacy. She's just... a mother. It's something to do with being a mother, but she's got this deal in spades. Man, Mom sees all, knows all, rules all. Half the time you don't even know she's doing it. Like you inviting them for dinner tonight, when you never invite people to dinner."
"I do, too."
"Uh-uh. Roarke does. You could've said you were busy, or hey, fine, let's meet at some restaurant or whatever, but she wanted to come to your house for dinner, so you asked her."
Eve had to stop herself from squirming in her chair. "I was being polite. I do know how."
"No, you were trapped in The Look." Peabody shook her head. "Even you are powerless against it. I just thought I should tell you."
"Scram, Peabody."