In Death 28 - Promises in Death

to. Easier somehow to go through the steps. The memorial, it centered me. Somehow. Her brother—helping him—it was something that had to be done. Then she was gone. She’s gone. And it’s final, and there’s nothing for me to do.”
    “Tell me about her. Some small thing, something not important. Just something.”
    “She liked to walk in the city. She’d rather walk than take a cab, even when it was cold.”
    “She liked to see what was going on, be part of it,” Eve prompted.
    “Yes. She liked the night, walking at night. Finding some new place to have a drink or listen to music. She wanted me to teach her how to play the saxophone. She had no talent for it whatsoever. God.” A shudder ran through him. Racked him. “Oh, God.”
    “But you tried to teach her.”
    “She’d be so serious about it, but the noise—you’d never call it music—that came out would make her laugh. She’d push the sax at me, and tell me to play something. She liked to stretch out on the couch and ask me to play.”
    “You can see her there?”
    “Yes. Candlelight on her face, that half smile of hers. She’d relax and watch me play.”
    “You can see her there,” Eve repeated. “She’s not gone.”
    He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.
    Panicked, Eve looked over at Roarke. And he nodded, centered her. So she kept talking.
    “I’ve never lost anyone who mattered,” Eve told Morris. “Not like this. For a long time, I didn’t have anyone who mattered. So I don’t know. Not all the way. But I feel, because of what I do. I feel. I don’t know how people get through it, Morris, I swear to Christ I don’t know how they put one foot in front of the other. I think they need something to hold on to. You can see her, and you can hold on to that.”
    Morris dropped his hands, stared down at them. Empty. “I can. Yes, I can. I’m grateful, to both of you. I keep leaning on you. And here, I’ve turned up on your doorstep, pushing this into your evening.”
    “Stop. Death’s a bastard,” Eve said. “When the bastard comes, the ones left need family. We’re family.”
    Summerset wheeled in a small table. Businesslike and efficient, he moved it between Eve and Morris. “Dr. Morris, you’ll have some soup now.”
    “I—”
    “It’s what you need. This is what you need.”
    “Would you see the blue suite on the third floor’s prepared.” Roarke moved forward now to sit on the arm of Eve’s chair. “Dr. Morris will be staying tonight.”
    Morris started to speak, then just closed his eyes, took a breath. “Thank you.”
    “I’ll take care of it.” When Summerset started out, Eve slid out of the chair and went after him. She caught him at the doorway, spoke quietly.
    “You didn’t tranq that soup, did you?”
    “Certainly not.”
    “Okay, don’t get huffy.”
    “I am never huffy. ”
    “Fine. Whatever.” She had more important things to do than wrangle with Summerset.
    “Lieutenant,” he said as she turned away. “It will likely be a very long while before I ever repeat this, if that day should ever come. But I’ll say now, at this precise moment, I’m proud of you.”
    Her jaw very nearly slammed into the toes of her boots. She goggled at his stiff, skinny back as he walked away. “Weird,” she muttered. “Very, very weird.”
    She went back inside, took her seat. It relieved her that Morris ate, that his voice was back to steady as he and Roarke talked. “Some part of my brain must have been functioning, because it brought me here.”
    “You’ll talk to Mira, when you’re ready?”
    Morris considered Roarke’s question. “I suppose I will. I know what she’ll offer. I know it’s right. We deal with it every day. As you said, Dallas, we feel.”
    “I don’t know what you think about this sort of thing,” Eve began. “But I know this priest.”
    A faintest ghost of a smile touched Morris’s mouth. “A priest.”
    “A Catholic guy, from this case I worked.”
    “Oh yes, Father Lopez, from Spanish Harlem. I spoke with him during that business.”
    “Sure. Right. Well, anyway . . . There’s something about him. Something solid, I guess. Maybe, if you wanted someone outside of the circle, outside of the job, you know, you could talk to him.”
    “I was raised Buddhist.”
    “Oh, well . . .”
    That ghost of a smile remained. “And as I grew up, I experimented and toyed with a variety of faiths. The organized sort, I found, didn’t stick with me. But it might be