Page 34 of Festive in Death

“I think, I guess you’re asking what I think.”

“I am,” he told her.

“I think creating a garden shows respect. And I think the kids you’d shelter there, educate there, don’t need to be reminded of cruelty and death, but of life. Of the, well, garden of possibilities of life.”

“I think you’re exactly right. Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’m going to grab thirty in the gym before I get ready.”

Coffee in hand, she took the elevator down, got in a good run along a simulated shoreline with blue waves breaking.

After a blistering hot shower with the multi-jets on full, she stepped into the drying tube.

“It’s too bad the rest of the world can’t be heated up like a shower,” she commented as she headed for her closet.

“Since it can’t you’ll want to dress for it. Not as windy today, though, according to the questionably reliable forecast.”

She grabbed a sweater she knew to be warm despite being thin and soft as a tissue, straight-legged pants and a vest that would add warmth and cover her weapon harness.

After pulling on clothes, she grabbed a pair of boots.

“Not those boots,” Roarke said with barely a glance when she came out to sit and pull them on.

“What’s wrong with these boots?”

“Not a thing, but the gray with the mock laces will pick up the color of that sweater, polish things off.”

“I don’t need to polish... Fine, fine, fine.” Easier, she figured, to change the damn boots than get into a fashion debate she’d certainly lose.

Plus she wanted to see what was under the silver domes on the table. If she changed the boots, maybe it wouldn’t be oatmeal.

He poured her coffee as she sat down again. “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

“We’ll see about that.” She lifted the dome. “Oh hell yeah, it’s a good morning.”

“I thought, considering yesterday, you’d earned pancakes.”

She immediately drowned them in syrup.

“They’re all apple and cinnamonny.”

“And deserve better than being a vehicle for syrup, but ah well.”

In any case, he loved watching her appreciation of food, especially since she so often forgot to eat it.

“I might need a bribe for Dickhead,” she said between bites. “Considering he’s had twenty-four hours, my wrath should be enough, but just in case.”

“Take him a bottle of unblended scotch,” Roarke suggested.“We’ve several already in gift bags. It’ll throw him off-balance straightaway if you offer him a holiday token.”

“It would, wouldn’t it? I really hate to go bearing gifts and all, but any lack of cooperation after that would make him an even bigger Dickhead than he is. It’s kind of win-win for me.”

“It’s the old catching more flies with sugar than vinegar.”

“Why would anyone want to catch flies? What you want is to make them go the hell away.”

“That’s a point, and now another classic adage bites the dust.” He patted her leg. “Breakfast with you is a continuing education.”

“I do what I can. If it turns out the vic’s blend of tea included a date-rape drug, I can use that to pry open more of his clients. Outrage tends to turn off filters.”

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