In Death 05 - Ceremony in Death by authors_sort

will buy this. I have, after all, lost potential business by closing to speak to you. Twenty dollars."
    "Fair enough." Eve dug into her pocket for credits. "What is it?"
    "We'll call it a worry bowl. In this you place all your pain, your sorrow, your worries. Set it aside and sleep without shadows."
    "Such a deal." Eve set the credits on the counter and waited for Isis to wrap the bowl in protective paper.
    Eve got home early, a rarity. She thought she could dive into work in the quiet of her home office. She could get past Summerset easily enough, she mused as she pulled up at the end of the drive. The butler would simply sniff and ignore her. She'd have a couple of hours clear to run data on Isis and to contact Dr. Mira's office and make an appointment with the psychiatrist. It would, Eve decided, be interesting to get Mira's take on personalities such as Selina Cross and Isis.
    Eve got no farther than the front door when her plans disintegrated.
    Music pounded, blasting out of the front parlor like compact nuclear explosions. Staggering against the waves, Eve slapped her hands over her ears and shouted.
    She didn't have to be told it was Mavis. No one else in her sphere would play clashing, discordant notes at that decibel. When she reached the doorway, the volume was still revved high. Her shouted demands reached neither the remote nor the single occupant of the room.
    Alone, decked out in a micro robe of searing magenta that echoed the spiral curls shooting out of her head, Mavis Freestone lounged on the couch, doing the impossible. She slept like a baby.
    "Jesus Christ." Since vocal commands were useless, Eve risked her eardrums and dropped her hands to fumble with the recessed control unit. "Off, off, off!" She shouted stabbing buttons. The noise shut down in midblast and made her moan.
    Mavis's eyes popped open. "Hey, how's it going?"
    "What?'' Eve shook her head to try to dispel the high-pitched ringing. "What?"
    "That was a new group I picked up this morning. Mayhem. Pretty decent."
    "What?"
    With a chuckle, 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