Whiplash

Georgie came skipping into the small dining room. "Not twelve, Erin. Daddy can't even eat twelve tacos."

"So now you're trying to welsh on the bet?"

Bowie looked from one to the other. "You've got a bet? Twelve tacos?"

"We didn't actually specify a number," Erin said, and motioned Georgie to her chair. "You get your homework done, sweetie?"

Bowie did a double take. He watched his daughter slip into her seat, shake her head at Erin. "You're nagging, Erin. I got nearly all of it done, but Daddy needs to help me with the grammar part. We have to put in commas and periods. Okay, Daddy? After dinner?"

Bowie nodded. Georgie had been living with Erin for only two days, and here Erin was acting like her mother? The thought stopped him cold. He had to bring this case to a close so he could get his daughter out of here, away from Erin. He didn't care that Erin Pulaski was smart and nice and sincerely liked his daughter, and liked him too, he thought; there was no way he was traveling down that road again, not after Beth. His brain froze as it always did when he thought of Beth, like he'd stepped to the edge of a black hole and leaped back. At least the memories no longer burst through into his dreams to give him nightmares. And that made him think of Krissy, which was odd. He and Krissy had been friends, with benefits, for nearly four months, but neither of them wanted anything more, at least he had thought that. He said easily to his daughter, "I got a call from Krissy today. She sends you her love. She wants to bring you something from Harrods in London. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

"What's Harrods?"

"It's a big, gorgeous department store," Erin said, "with more cool stuff than you can imagine, including this huge floor just for food, with everything from candy to filet mignon. Me, I love their stuffed olives."

"Okay, tell Krissy we'd really like some olives. I don't know about stuffing them, though."

Bowie's eyebrow shot up. "What is this, Georgie? You're ordering food all the way from England? Erin doesn't have enough to share? You won't be here long enough to worry about that. Glynn will be better soon and home again. Don't forget, Erin has that big important client, right, Erin?"

Does he suspect something isn't right, like Sherlock? She stared down at her taco, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

Sherlock said when Erin didn't reply, "You remember, Erin, your case dealing with drugs, right?"

Erin said, "You can tell Krissy any of the candies would be great, okay, Georgie? Candy will travel better than stuffed olives. Whatever she brings will make you dance on the ceiling, something I haven't yet figured out how to do. Big case? Well, really, it's not big at all. No, it's not about drugs."

Hmm. Sherlock said to Georgie, who was all ears, "By any wild chance did you hear us talking before dinner?"

"Well, maybe I heard some things, Aunt Sherlock."

Bowie nearly dropped the handful of lettuce he was spreading on top of his taco. Aunt Sherlock?

Georgie continued, "You know, I might have heard some stuff when I got real close to the door. Erin's walls aren't very thick, you know. It's an apartment, and Daddy says apartments have crappy construction."

"Well, I didn't say exactly that," Bowie said. "Don't say 'crap,' Georgie."

"I didn't say 'crap' exactly, Daddy."

"Close enough. Whatever."

Georgie gave her father a sweet smile and continued, "Erin knows lots of neat things. She's known people in Europe speak English for years and years. I think I knew it too."

God bless this wonderful child, Erin thought, as she spooned taco meat into a tortilla shell, carefully handed it to her, and waved at the bowls of lettuce, tomatoes, and cheese. "Add whatever you want. Years and years? That makes me sound about a hundred."

"No, Grandma's about a hundred," Georgie said, and sprinkled cheddar on her taco.

Bowie was looking at her, too many questions in his eyes, and so Erin proceeded to lie, clean as a whistle. "It wasn't years and years ago. When I was twenty I took off a year to bum around Europe. I began to notice that business people, especially in international companies, sometimes spoke three, four different languages, English included. I decided it must be a requirement for upward mobility." She never raised her head, concentrated on her own taco. "Except in France, of course. I think if you speak English in France, you can be guillotined as a traitor."

Bowie was diverted, just as she'd intended. He laughed, couldn't help it. "Sherlock, should I send Dolores Cliff back to JFK tomorrow to fetch the two Schiffer Hartwin gentlemen?"