She updated her board and book, wrote her report and sent copies to Whitney and Mira. And glanced over when she heard the dancing clicks coming toward her office.
Mavis Freestone swirled in. A long, shiny coat of popping pink covered with electric-blue lightning bolts lay open to a crotch-skimming skirt that fluttered more pink over striped tights and thigh-high shiny blue boots. Her hair twirled up, gold streaked with both colors, then poufed back into a pink ponytail.
She bounced right over to Eve wrapped her in a fierce hug that smelled of cherry lollipops.
“Hi,” Eve managed.
“Hi to you. And that’s for the top secret Peabody and McNab project. You’re the ultra maggiest of mags, Dallas.”
“It’s not that big a deal.”
Mavis drew back, eyes—purple as plums today—shining. “It’s the mega deal of deals. Wait till you see the gown Leonardo’s altering and customizing for her. He’s doing it himself because that’s my moon pie. Got minutes?”
“Sure, a few.”
“Bella’s out entertaining your troops, but she’s got something for you.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe you could . . .” Mavis gestured toward the murder board.
“Oh, right.” She covered it.
“Ice. Second.”
Mavis dashed out, and as she dashed back, Eve heard Bella’s cheerful jabbering.
The kid wore what Eve decided was a Mavis and Leonardo–style slicker. More pink, lots of shiny, and decorated with rainbows. She, too, wore boots, with multicolored bows in lieu of laces, along with a frilly skirt, and a dazzling smile.
She wiggled out of Mavis’s arms, chanting: “Das, Das, Das!”
Then launched herself at Eve with a height and velocity that made Eve think the kid might develop one hell of a standing jump shot.
She hauled Bella up because what choice did she have. Said, “Hey.”
“Das!” Bella threw back her head, laughed like a lunatic so her blond curls shook against the pink unicorn clips tucking it back from her ridiculously pretty face.
Bella caught Eve’s face in her hands, shook her head, then linked arms tight around Eve’s neck. Sighed. “Das, Das, Das.”
“We haven’t said anything—unless in sort of code about top secret because somebody could blab,” Mavis explained. “But I’m pretty sure she knows something happy’s coming, and you’re the reason.”
“I’m not. I just—”
Bella leaned back, kissed Eve’s cheek. Earnestly she babbled, patting her hands on Eve’s face, then brushing them into Eve’s hair. She pulled one of the unicorns out of her curly mop, and with a kind of ferocious concentration, shoved it into Eve’s choppy hair.
“Oh hey, I don’t—”
“Pretty!” Bella beamed sunshine smiles. “Das pretty.” And kissed Eve again.
“My Bellamina, that’s so sweet, and generous. She’s learning to share. It’s important to share.” Mavis spoke directly and very deliberately to Eve—with the pretty scary addition of a steely mom stare.
“Right.” And now, Eve thought, she had a freaking pink unicorn in her hair.
“And that’s not even the present. I guess that’s an extra. Bellisima? Do you want to give Dallas her present?”
“Das!” She wiggled down. “’Res’nt, Das. Bella do. Pretty!”
Mavis took a roll of thick paper tied with a ribbon out of her enormous bag, handed it to Bella.
Smiling, lashes fluttering, Bella held it up to Eve. “Bella do. Das.”
Eve sat, untied the ribbon, unrolled the paper.
Blobs of color, splotches of more, covered it along with finger swirls and prints, dots, and shaky lines.
She said, “Wow.”
“Bella loves to paint. Finger painting’s her specialty. When I told her we were coming to see you today, she wanted to make you a painting.”
“It’s great.” And rivaled, she thought, one of Jenkinson’s most eye-burning ties for impact.
Bella crawled up into Eve’s lap, wiggled her butt down. She took Eve’s hand so they pointed together.
“Das,” she said. “Ork. Somshit. Gah-ad.” She tapped, then moved up. “Das Ork how.”
“Sss,” Mavis prompted.
“How-sss. Like cas . . .” She looked at Mavis.
“Sil.”
“Cas-sil.”
“It kinda is,” Eve agreed, a little surprised she could interpret the words, even if she still saw only blobs and splotches. “It’s really great, kid.”
More babbling, along with hopeful blue eyes. This time Eve had to look to Mavis.
“She’s hoping you’ll put it up.”
“Oh. Ah, yeah, sure. I . . . I’m going to take it home. I have to show it to Roarke, and we’ll put it up.” Somewhere.
“And Somshit?”
“Yeah. Him, too.”
“Gah-ad?”
“The whole deal. It’s great,” she said again because, strangely, it sort of was. “Thanks.”
On a happy sigh, Bella laid her head against Eve’s shoulder.
“We have to go, my Belle, and Dallas has to work.”
“Want Das.”
“We’ll see Dallas soon, but we have to go home, finish packing for our trip.”
“Go whoosh!” Bella scrambled around to face Eve, jabbering and howling with laughter.
“She loves to fly and go on trips.”
“Where are you going?”
Mavis hauled Bella up. “To New L.A. The Oscars, remember?”
Stupid, stupid Oscars. “I didn’t know you were going.”
“Not just going. I’m performing.” In a rare show of nerves, Mavis pressed a hand to her belly. “‘Hold on Tight’ is up for Best Song, and they asked me to perform. It’s not going to take it—I think ‘Take Your Rest’ has it locked, but . . . Jeez, Dallas, I’m performing at the freaking Oscars. I’m a little terrified.”
“You’ll kick ass.”
“Ass,” Bella echoed.
“Sorry.”
Mavis shook her head. “I can use the kick ass. And I’m going to try to do that.” She tipped her head to Bella’s. “Who’d’ve thought? Who’d’ve thought I’d ever have the chance to kick it at the Oscars. And I wouldn’t if it wasn’t for you.”
“Oh, bull . . . ony.”
“Primo save. It’s true. You and Roarke opened the door, and here I am. I’m never going to forget it. So, you better watch.”
“Wouldn’t miss.”
“You watch,” Mavis repeated. “Because I’m going to kick it. For my Bellamina, for my honey bear. But this time? This time most of all for you and Roarke. Gotta jump, we’re leaving tonight. Tell Dallas bye, baby.”
“Bye, Das!”
“Flip side,” Mavis said. “Cha.”
Bella blew kisses over Mavis’s shoulder as they clipped out.
Eve looked down at the finger painting. A castle-house, Roarke, a fat cat, and, okay, Somshit.
You just never knew where life would take you.
Or death, either, she thought.
She gathered her things, headed out. Despite the tie—yellow flowers over a sea of green that made her eyes want to bleed—she walked to Jenkinson’s desk.
“Anything hits I need to know, tag me. Otherwise handle it. I’m working from home.”
“Sure thing, boss.” His gaze drifted up; his lips twisted into a smug smirk.
“What?”
“Just thinking how you rag on my ties, but you got a pink unicorn in your hair.”
“I—crap!” She reached up, dragged it out. “Not on purpose. Yours is deliberate.”
Because she couldn’t just ditch it, she stuffed the clip in her pocket and tried to stride out with dignity.
*
By the time she got home, Eve had a reasonable plan of attack for the work. She walked in just as Summerset walked down the stairs.
His eyebrows arched up. “Has there been an alien invasion? Perhaps a zombie apocalypse?”
“We’ve got the zombie right here.” She stripped off her coat, tossed it over the newel post as he continued down. Then she dug into her file bag. “I’m supposed to show this to you.”
She unrolled the painting, held it up. “Mavis brought the kid by. It’s her work—the kid’s not Mavis’s.”
He smiled—and that was creepy. “Yes, I see. Very colorful.”
“It’s the house, and . . . the rest of us.” Eve tapped a blob. “She says this is you.” And waited a beat. “Somshit.”
He laughed—and that was way creepy. “I’m flattered.”
“Well, anyway.” Eve rolled it up again. “She wants me to put it up somewhere.” This time she waited longer than a beat.
“Naturally. It’s a long tradition in many families to display a child’s artwork on the friggie.”