They hit a cart, so Peabody settled for a scrambled egg wrap that Eve assumed tasted better than it smelled. The coffee didn’t but that was par. “We’re going to talk to Breen’s wife. I got a hassle when I called her office for her schedule, so I pulled in the reserves.”
Peabody’s response was an egg-substitute–filled mumble. She swallowed. “I’m supposed to arrange the appointments.”
“You’re going to bitch because I cut you a break?”
“No.” But she had to fight the pout. “I don’t want you to think I can’t fulfill my duties because I’ve got all this stuff going on.”
“If I have a complaint about your work, Peabody, you’ll be the first to know.”
“That’s a given,” Peabody muttered and took a slug of her orange-flavored energy drink. “You said reserves?”
“Julietta does fashion. I happen to know somebody in the fashion forefront. Ms. Gates’s schedule miraculously cleared when she got a call from Leonardo’s main squeeze.”
“You tagged Mavis. Mag.”
“It’s not a girl outing, Peabody, it’s a murder investigation.”
“Silver linings, sir. I like a nice silver lining.” Peabody washed down egg substitute with reconstituted citrus product. “I can’t wait to tell her we’re going to be neighbors. At least until she has the baby. I guess they’re going to want a bigger place.”
“Why? How much room could a baby take up?”
“It’s not the baby so much, it’s all the stuff. You got your crib, your changing table, your activity center, your diaper unit, your—”
“Never mind. Jeez.” It gave her the mild weirds just to think about it.
“It was really smart to horn in using Mavis.”
“I have my moments.”
“Of course, you could’ve just told them you were Mrs. Roarke, and they’d have bowed to you.”
“I don’t want them to bow to me, I just want a damn interview. And don’t call me Mrs. Roarke.”
“Just saying.” Cheerful now, Peabody polished off the wrap. “Boy, nothing like a good breakfast to lift your mood. It’s not such a big deal, getting a place with McNab. It’s just another step in an evolving relationship. Right?”
“How the hell do I know?”
Fastidiously, Peabody dug out a wipe for her fingers, and made a mental note to replace the bloody handkerchief she’d left at Smith’s. “Well, when you moved in with Roarke you didn’t get all stupid and nervous and knotted up.”
There was a long pause, a long silence.
“You did?” Peabody’s head thunked back on the seat. “That’s so great. It makes me feel so much better. If you can get all screwed up over moving in with the god of men, into that palace, it’s okay for me to get wigged about moving to an apartment with McNab. It’s okay.”
“Now that we’ve solved that thorny dilemma, maybe we can concentrate on the case.”
“I just have one more question. When did you get over it? I mean, how long did it take for you to feel normal about hooking up with Roarke—living in the same space and all that?”
“I’ll l
et you know when it happens.”
“Wow. That’s . . .” She thought it over, and a dreamy smile bloomed on her face. “That’s sweet.”
“Please shut up before I have to hurt you.”
“Dallas, you said please. You’re mellowing.”
“Insults,” Eve grumbled. “All I get are insults. Mrs. Roarke, sweet, mellowing. We’ll see how mellow I am when I stuff your head up your ass.”