Mavis’s fairyland, Eve thought, twinkling around the garden, sparkling in the trees, glowing along the paths, even, she noted, shimmering against the rocks in Peabody’s waterfall.
“I thought maybe we went totally over the board,” Mavis said to Peabody. “But we didn’t. All the lights? I mean, check it. Way mag.”
“The effect’s charming,” Roarke told her.
“As for security.”
“Got it covered,” McNab said to Eve. “Got cams, got sensors, anti-jammer shields, lockdown switches. The same system you guys have, house, grounds, gate, and the system rocks it hard. I’ll be running weekly checks.”
McNab wasn’t Roarke, but who was, so Eve relaxed.
And after an evening with friends, with murder locked in a box, she stayed that way as they drove off.
“I need to make a stop on the way home, talk to some street LCs.”
“What an interesting evening.”
“And I might get more out of them with you along.”
She gave him the block location, settled back.
“It’s going to work, the five, soon to be six, of them in that house. They’ve got their separate spaces, yeah, but they like the together. None of them would be as stupid happy as they are without the together.”
“They fit well, don’t they? Five distinct personalities, but with a great deal of common ground. And what you said there, about them making it special and uniquely theirs? As true as it gets.”
“It was good to see it, and yeah, to feel it. Plus, now I won’t have to hear about tile samples and paint colors every day.” She shifted to him, spotted the red ribbon.
She pulled it out of his hair, then removed her own blue bow.
“Party’s over. You did a hell of a job, pal.”
“I was, for the most part, an observer.”
“Bollocks to that. I know all parties involved, and I can hear you saying, ‘Well, now, Mavis, there’s an idea, isn’t it?’ That would be when she talked about something like putting a koi pond in the foyer or a chicken house in one of the play areas.”
“Coop, a chicken house is a coop.”
“Whatever. You’d give her the ‘well now,’ then wind it up with alternatives.”
“There was little of that, actually. She had a vision, and one that reflected her family. There is talk of chickens, as it happens.”
“What? Seriously?”
“That came from Peabody.”
“Of course it did.” Why was she surprised? “Once a Free-Ager.”
“They wanted to get in, settled, live awhile, but they’re wanting a little coop, a few laying hens, and there’s room, of course. Fresh eggs, amusement for Bella—and a chore she can learn.”
“And a lot of chicken shit.”
“Which, Peabody points out, can be used in the garden.”
“Chickens inside a thing? I can deal with that. But if they end up with a cow, I’m out.”
He turned onto the block, and with the luck of the Irish—if that was really a thing—slid into a spot at the curb.
“And why are we talking to LCs on this fine September night?”
