Ceremony in Death by J. D. Robb Page B

Mavis unfolded her neat little body and bounced to a cabinet. “Looks like you could use a drink, Dallas. I must have zoned. Up pretty late the last few nights. Wanted to talk to you — about stuff.”
    “Your mouth is moving,” Eve observed. “Are you talking to me?”
    “It wasn’t that loud. Have a drink. Summerset said it would be all right if I hung for awhile. Didn’t know when you’d check in.”
    For reasons that eluded Eve, the stiff-necked butler appeared to have a major crush on Mavis. “He’s probably in his cage, composing odes to your legs.”
    “Hey, it’s nothing sexual. He just likes me. So.” Mavis clunked her glass against Eve’s. “Roarke’s not around, right?”
    “With that music blasting?” Eve snorted, sipped. “Figure it out.”
    “Well, that’s good, because I wanted to roll it out with you.” But she sat, twisted the glass in her hands, and said nothing.
    “What’s the problem? You and Leonardo have a fight or something?”
    “No, no. You can’t really fight with Leonardo. He’s too sweet. He’s in Milan for a few days. Some fashion deal.”
    “Why didn’t you go with him?” Eve sat, rested her booted feet on the priceless coffee table, crossed her ankles.
    “I’ve got the gig at the Down and Dirty. I wouldn’t let Crack down after he bailed me.”
    “Hmm.” Eve rolled her shoulders and began to relax. Mavis’s career as a performer — it was difficult to use the term singer when defining Mavis’s talents — was moving along. There had been some serious roadblocks, but they’d been overcome. “I didn’t figure you’d work there much longer. Not with a recording contract.”
    “Yeah, well, that’s the thing. The contract. You know, after finding out Jess was using me — and you and Roarke — for his mind games, I didn’t figure the demo I’d cut with him would go anywhere.”
    “It was good, Mavis; flashy, unique. That’s why it got picked up.”
    “Is it?” She rose again, a tiny woman with wild hair. “I found out today that Roarke owns the recording company that offered the contract.” Gulping her drink, she paced away. “I know we go back a ways, Dallas, a long ways, and I appreciate you putting Roarke up to it, but I don’t feel right about it. I wanted to thank you.” She turned then, her silver eyes tragic and bleak. “And tell you that I’m going to turn it down.”
    Eve pursed her lips. “Mavis, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Are you telling me that Roarke, the guy who lives here, is producing your disc?”
    “It’s his company. Eclectic. It produces everything from classical to brain drain. It’s the company. Totally mag, which was why I was so wired up about the deal.”
    Eclectic, Eve mused. The company. It sounded just like him. “I don’t know anything about it. I didn’t ask him to do anything, Mavis.”
    She blinked, lowered slowly to the arm of a chair. “You didn’t? Solid?”
    “I didn’t ask,” Eve repeated, “and he didn’t tell me.” Which was also just like him. “I’d have to say that if his company is offering you a contract, it’s because Roarke, or whoever he’s put in charge of that stuff, figures you’re worth it.”
    Mavis took slow breaths. She’d worked herself up to the selfless sacrifice, unwilling to take advantage of friendship. Now she teetered. “Maybe he arranged it, like a favor.”
    Eve cocked a brow. “Roarke’s business is business. I’d say he figures you’re going to make him richer. And if he did do it as a favor, which I doubt, then you’ll just have to prove to him that you’re worth it. Won’t you, Mavis?”
    “Yeah.” She let out a long breath. “I’m going to kick ass, you wait and see.” Her smile beamed out. “Maybe you could come by the D and D tonight. I’ve got some new material, and Roarke could get another close-up of his latest investment.”
    “Have to pass tonight. I’ve got work. I’ve got to check out The