In Death 14 - Reunion in Death

"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."
    "Scramming, sir. Oh and um..." She hesitated at the door. "I had a sort of date with McNab tonight, so maybe he could come along to dinner. That way, you know, he could meet them without it being as weird as it would be otherwise."
    Eve put her head in her hands. "Jesus."
    "Thanks! I'll see you tonight."
    Alone, Eve sulked. She scowled. Then she ate the cupcake.
    ...
    "So they painted my office, and stole my candy. Again." At home, in the spacious living area with its glossy antiques and gleaming glass, Eve paced the priceless Oriental carpet. Roarke had only just arrived home, so she'd had no one to bitch to for the past hour.
    As far as she was concerned, a bitching partner was one of the top perks of marriage.
    "And Peabody finished up all the paperwork while I was gone, which meant I didn't even have that to do."
    "She should be ashamed. Imagine, your aide doing paperwork behind your back."
    "Watch the smart-ass remarks, pal, because you've got some explaining to do as well."
    He just stretched out his legs, crossed his feet at the ankles. "Ah. So how did Peabody and McNab enjoy Bimini?"
    "You're a real Lord Bountiful, aren't you? Sending them off to some island so they can run around naked and slide down waterfalls."
    "I take that to mean they had a good time."
    "Gel-beds," she muttered. "Naked monkeys."
    "Excuse me?"
    She shook her head. "You've got to stop interfering in this... thing they've got going."
    "Maybe I will," he said, lazily. "When you stop seeing their relationship as some sort of bugaboo."
    "Bugaboo? What the hell is that?" She scooped a frustrated hand through her hair. "I don't see their thing as a bugaboo because I don't even know what that means. Cops-"
    "Deserve lives," he interrupted. "Like everyone else. Relax, Lieutenant. Our Peabody has a good head on her shoulders."
    Blowing out a breath, Eve dropped into a chair. "Bugaboo." She snorted. "That's probably not even a word, and if it is, it's a really stupid word. I gave her a case today."
    He reached over idly to toy with the fingers she'd been tapping restlessly against her knee. "You didn't mention you'd caught a case today."
    "I didn't. I dug one out of the cold files. Six years back. Woman, pretty, young, upwardly mobile, married. Husband's out of town, comes back and finds her dead in the bathtub. Homicide poorly disguised as self-termination or accident. His alibi's solid, and he comes off clean as a whistle. Everyone interviewed says how they were the perfect couple, happy as clams."
    "Do you ever wonder how we determine the happiness of the clam?"
    "I'm going to give that some real thought later. Anyway, there are letters hidden in her underwear drawer. Really explicit sex letters from someone who signs his name C."
    "Extramarital affair, lover's spat, murder?"
    "The primary of record thought so."
    "But you don't?"
    "Nobody ever found the guy, nobody ever saw the guy, nobody she knew ever heard her speak of the guy. Or so they said. I went by to see the husband, met his new wife and kid. Little girl, couple years old."
    "One could assume, justifiably, that after his period of mourning, he moved on, made a new life."
    "One could assume," she replied.
    "Not that I ever would, of course. Under similar