“Change first. You'll feel more in the party mode without your boots and weapon.”

By the time she'd changed trousers for cotton pants, boots for skids, and made it downstairs, she heard voices in the foyer. She spotted her partner, Peabody, her short, dark ponytail bouncing, summery dress swirling. Peabody's cohab, e-detective and premier geek McNab, stood beside her in a skin tank crisscrossed with more colors than an atomic rainbow paired with baggy, hot pink knee shorts and gel flips.

He turned, the forest of silver rings on his left earlobe shimmering, and shot Eve a wide grin. “Hey, Dallas. We brought you something.”

“My granny's homemade wine.” Peabody held up the bottle. “I know you've got a wine cellar the size of California, but we thought you'd get a charge. It's good stuff.”

“Let's go out and open it up. I'm ready for some good stuff.”

Peabody kept eye contact, quirked her brows. “All okay?”

“The PA's probably still doing his happy dance. Case closed,” she said, and left out the rest. No point in adding the details now that would leave her partner as troubled as she'd been.

“We'll have the first drink with a toast to the NYPSD's Homicide — and Electronic Detectives divisions,” Roarke said with a wink for McNab.

The wide stone terrace held tables already loaded with food and shaded by umbrellas, and the gardens exploded with color and scent. The monster grill Roarke had conquered — mostly — looked formidable, and the wine was indeed good stuff.

Within thirty minutes, the scent of grilling meat mixed with the perfume of summer flowers. The terrace, the chairs around the tables, the gardens filled with people. It still amazed her she'd somehow collected so many.

Her cops — everyone who'd worked the Dudley-Moriarity case — along with Cher Reo, the ADA, newlyweds Dr. Louise DiMatto and retired licensed companion Charles Monroe stood, sat, lounged, or stuffed their faces.