In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

tube and drank deep. “Now bright sounds right.”
    “Peabody called to check. I told her I thought you were wrapping things up. I’m to tell you Trina’s waiting for you.”
    “Shit. That was mean of you.”
    He walked with her. “You did well. You . . . decimated him.”
    “You were in Observation? I . . . I felt you.”
    “Where else would I be?”
    This time she took his hand, laced her fingers with his. Palm to palm, she thought. He was there. He always would be.
    “I know it sounds weird, but when I started to fill up with him, with my father, I felt you. I guess you could say I leaned on you. It helped me stay steady.”
    He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s you and I go find some of that bright.”

EPILOGUE
    THE ROOM SMELLED LIKE A GARDEN AND SOUNDED LIKE A flock of birds—possibly chickadees—had just taken roost. Why, she wondered, did women so often sound like songbirds when they gathered together for one of their rites?
    She sat, because she’d told herself it was her job to sit, in what Peabody had gleefully dubbed the Bridal Suite, while Trina slathered God-knew-what all over her face.
    “Stop squirming.” Trina, her hair a puzzling maze of braids and twists in screaming red, kept slathering.
    “When, by all that’s holy, are you going to stop?”
    “When I’m finished. This product is going to help ease the bruising and cover it up. You could’ve at least tried not to get hit in the face right before the wedding.”
    “Oh yeah, I should’ve tried harder not to get caught in a human stampede since a black eye doesn’t go with my dress.”
    “What I’m saying,” Trina agreed. “It’s not so bad. We got a lot of it treated last night when you finally got here.”
    “Would you get off my ass? Murderers, two vicious killers behind bars.”
    “I’ll add it to your scorecard,” Trina said and snapped her gum.
    Peabody, her hair glossed and curled, her square-jawed face polished and painted, peered over Trina’s shoulder. “You can hardly see it. Plus, it makes her skin all dewy.”
    “Wait till I add the base.”
    “More? I already have an inch troweled on. Why can’t I—”
    “Quit bitching. Why don’t you get her some champagne,” Trina suggested. “This can soak in while I start on Louise.” She gave Eve a hard grin. “She doesn’t need as much work.”
    “Sure.” Peabody strolled off in her floaty blue dress and bare feet.
    Mavis, in a skintight mini nearly as red as Trina’s hair zipped up on matching sandals with the teetering heels shaped like open hearts. “Looking flip, Dallas. Is this the most total day ever? Here hold Bellamina a minute. I want to get bubbly for the bride.”
    So saying, she dropped her six-month-old daughter in Eve’s lap. “Hey, Mavis, don’t—”
    But it was too late as Eve had an armful of chubby baby in foaming, lacy pink. Blonde curls in pink ribbons danced as Bella bounced. She said, “Gah,” and grinned.
    “Okay. God. Okay. Why are you always smiling?” Eve demanded. “What do you know?”
    Bella squealed, gave a kind of push and straightened her legs until she was standing, weaving and bobbing with a maniacal look in her eyes as an ice pick of panic rammed into Eve’s stomach. “What’s she doing? For God’s sake, somebody do something.”
    “She’s just trying out her legs.” Efficiently, Peabody snatched the giggling baby, balanced Bella on her hip, then passed Eve a flute of champagne.
    Eve drank half of it down in one swallow.
    APA Cher Reo breezed in, sleek and cool in pale lavender. “Everything looks amazing! The flowers, the candles, the—”
    “Are you sure?” Louise demanded from her chair as Trina fussed and brushed. “I feel like I should pop down and just make sure everything’s in place.”
    “Believe me. It’s like a fairy tale. Oh God, yes,” she said when Mavis scooted up with another glass of champagne. “I wanted to come up, let you know the status, Dallas. Darrin Pauley, against advice of counsel, waives a trial. Counsel’s trying to pull a ‘he’s mentally incapable,’ which won’t fly. That’s according to Mira. He understands the difference between right and wrong, is legally competent to make decisions. He just doesn’t give a rat’s ass. That’s paraphrasing Mira. They don’t have a prayer. He’s going in, and staying in.”
    “That calls for another drink. Vance Pauley?”
    “Wants a trial. Refused an offer of twenty-five for each conspiracy count,