Sara Paretsky - V.I. Warshawski 08 (63 page)

Darraugh,
at his gruffest, handed me a round-trip ticket to Milan. “I told you to take a
vacation. Go find your mother’s home. And while you’re at it you can visit one
of my subsidiaries outside Milan. I’ve needed an Italian speaker to look in on
them. I’ll messenger over the details in the morning.”

What
else can I say, except that good friends are a balm to a bruised spirit?

And
that Mitch—aided by Nathan—got into the cake and ate most of it. And that
champagne flowed like water, and we danced until the pale moon sank.