Doing Someone In

by Khiori

Maura knows ways-cake, chocolate, and Dr. Pike.

"Hypothetically speaking, if I fantasize about killing Dr. Pike, does that make me a psychopath or worthy of the Nobel?"

Maura's mouth twitched and she threw an amused look at the sprawled mess of a wrinkled grey Boston PD t-shirt and worn blue jeans across her Italian leather sofa that was a certain Jane Rizzoli.

"Jane, the Nobel Peace Prize is to be awarded to individuals whose work has significantly increased the fraternity between nations or assisted in the abolition or reduction of standing armies. It is an international recognition for the holding and promotion of peace congress." She made the first precise incision in the cream cheese pound cake she had baked earlier. The new Damascus wood grain Shun cut perfectly.

"What?"

Maura considered the highly irritating pompous man and automatically thought of using her bone saw to-

She smiled. "Yes, definitely the Nobel, Jane."

Jane flung a fist up in victory. "Hah! I so knew it! Thanks, Maura. I'll remember to mention your name in my acceptance speech."

She laughed. "You had better."

Maura went back to work on her cake. The crust was a rich crisp golden brown, the perfect counter to the soft creamy white of the richly dense interior. She scowled as she thought again of Dr. Pike. "Or at least let me help. I know all kinds of ways to 'do someone in' properly."

Jane rolled her eyes and gave an incredulous snort. "Yeah, right, like you could get away with murder." She twisted around on the sofa. And caught sight of the cake Maura was cutting and sat up, brightening instantly. "Wait, there's cake? I want some!"

But Maura's hazel eyes were already going huge in outraged dignity and she stopped cutting mid pass. "Did you just imply that I am too incompetent to commit a simple thing like a homicide?"

The detective froze in instant alarm. She tried backtracking desperately, "Of course, not, Maura! I meant-"

The petite forensic pathology doctor now looked positive incensed. "Oh, and now I am not smart enough to know you are lying to me?"

Jane groaned and covered her face with her hands. "I never win."

"I will have you know that my Intelligence Quotient is more than sufficient to-"

Jane grabbed the fancy eiderdown St. Geneve pillow she had pilfered from Maura's bedroom earlier and pretended to be smothering herself. Then she threw it down in irate disgust. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry, Maura! Holy crap, I can't believe you're getting all worked up over me not thinking you capable of cold blooded murder! Wow, bad me."

The honey blond chief medical examiner blinked as her train of thought was successfully derailed mid fury and blushed as what Jane was saying fully penetrated. But then she sniffed aristocratically, re-rolled her white silk Moschino blouse sleeves and went back to making another exact cut. "I still could," she muttered, close to an actual pout.

Jane gave a martyred sigh and banged her head on the armrest of the sofa. "Maura. For the record, I know your big brain can figure it out. I was referring to your conscience and that whole inconvenient 'I can't lie or I break out in hives' thing." She turned pleading eyes on the other woman. "Face it, Maura; you're one of the good guys through and through."

Maura's nose wrinkled in disgruntlement but she finally relented. Slightly mollified now, she huffed. "And it is surface area, Jane."

"Look, I—what?" Jane dragged herself off the sofa and collapsed onto a stool at the counter with another groan. "Fine, I surrender, google me."

Maura gave her a look. "High levels of intelligence, in spite of popular belief, are not the result of additional brain matter but rather an increase in the surface of the cerebral cortex itself. Higher evolved mammals have a large number of fissures, called sulci and gyri or what is referred to as 'folding', while lesser evolved mammals have a far lower number of folds. In fact, a genetic disease called lissencephaly or 'smooth brain' is the lack of this complex brain folding in humans and causes severe mental deficiency in its victims."

Jane's brows drew down even while her eyes glinted mischievously. "Wait, so you're saying my brain looks like a nubile maiden and yours is a prune-y old woman?"

Maura made an outraged noise and leaned across the counter and shoved Jane. "Oh, very funny!"

Jane laughed. "Come on, now give me the rest."

Maura colored. "How do you know there is more?"

The detective grinned. "Maura, sweetie, with you there's always more."

She promptly got shoved again.

"Fine, Miss Sarcasm. However, there is also research which indicates that Einstein was apparently lacking a particular fissure in the inferior parietal lobe, which could have directly benefited his mathematical abilities by allowing the connecting cell branches to 'link' more efficiently by close proximity. So, there is also a theoretical possibility that the brain's physical structure may require this particular platform of high folding levels and additional 'side by side' connecting linkages to create genius level brains."

"Huh. That's really cool, Maura."

Maura smiled. "It is."

"Does that mean I can have cake now?"

"Jane!"

"Of course not. Oh, come on, Maura!"

"No."

Jane narrowed her eyes at Maura and then looked at the cake. Then back at Maura. She made a lunge for one of the cut pieces and then had to reverse course fast to avoid the doctor's surprisingly fast counter block with the wickedly serrated Japanese knife. "Hey! Okay, I change my mind, you could do it!" She inspected her hand carefully and then glared at the pathologist.

Maura smiled proudly. Then abruptly narrowed her hazel eyes and pointed the knife at the other woman firmly. "And still no."

"Oh, come on, Maura!" Jane stared pitifully at the delicious looking cake, "We've already had dinner, what are you waiting for?"

"Patience is a virtue, Jane."

"Not if I shoot you for a piece!"

"Jane! I am not waiting for a specific time; I am just not done completing the dessert!"

Jane groaned and put her elbow on the counter so she could lean on it sullenly. "You do know that you're supposed to put the icing on before you cut it, right?"

"Really, Jane? I still have a knife here."

"Then can I at least get your old lady brain to tell me what the heck you're doing with my cake?"

"Jane, you are such a child, sometimes."

"Hah! That tells you how well you don't know me—I'm a child all the time."

Maura laughed. "Fine, but now you get to help me."

Jane perked right up. "Yay! That means I might actually get some cake before my body matches up with your brain."

"You!" Maura jerked her chin in the direction of the Julia Bridge faucet. "Wash, now. And this time follow the Mayo Clinic's proper hand washing procedure."

Jane sighed dramatically. "Yes, mother. Would you like me to count out loud so you can supervise?"

"That depends, by counting do you mean that you are going to sing that beer song again?"

Jane pretended to consider it thoughtfully. "Yes."

"Then no."

Jane grinned and got up. She went around the counter to the sink and started washing.

Maura set the slices of pound cake aside and went to one of her built-in wine refrigerators.

The one that had been specifically custom-redesigned at extraordinary expense entirely to prevent the long hot humid months of Boston from ruining its delicious treasure: chocolate, from some of the finest chocolatiers in the world.

The one her detective had in a moment of impishness dubbed "Wonka".

And then promptly, in pure Jane mischief, stored her marshmallow Peeps inside.

Maura smiled as she reached into the cool dry darkness for the Pierre Marcolini.

Then she bit her lip briefly as she made her internal debate on which flavor she should choose, finally giving a little nod as she selected out a Chuao tablet for herself, with its delicate floral spicy freshness, and a Chocolat Au Lait one for Jane, with its more subtle Ardennes caramel note.

Long almost perpetually wild black tresses suddenly fell over her shoulder as the tall detective, now done washing, leaned over her to see what she was holding. "Ooh, now we're getting chocolate and cake, this just keeps getting better." Jane stepped back as Maura rose and held up two clean hands for inspection, wiggling her fingers. "Now what, boss?"

Maura very carefully kept her eyes off of the scars in the center of her friend's palms, knowing that Jane would forever be keenly sensitive to any observations of Hoyt's marks of evil on her flesh, and instead gave an over the top examination of the other's fingers to keep Jane from realizing that she was unintentionally exposing her scars and shutting down.

She frowned, making a mental note to schedule Jane a proper manicure again. Honestly, what was Boston PD doing that was this ruinous to a woman's nails?

"An almost adequate hand washing, Jane. I am so proud."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Thanks, Lady Macbeth."

Maura promptly poked her in the ribs, making the other woman swat at her.

"Jane! Stop mocking! Hand washing is an essential hygienic procedure."

Jane winced. "Here it comes."

Maura poked her again. "And you deserve it. Now, pay attention, Jane. The World Health Organization has a renowned 'Five Moments' guideline which notes that in order to maintain safe hygiene, human hands must be washed before patient care, with any environmental contact, after exposure to blood or body fluids-"

"Maura! Yuck! I don't want to hear about 'blood or body fluids' in context to chocolate and cake! Do you have any idea how completely gross that is?"

She smiled sweetly. "Yes."

"Maura!" She laughed. "You're evil, you know that, right?"

The doctor only smiled wider. "Yes. Now, I need whipped cream."

"Maura."

She laughed and shook a finger at Jane. "You behave. I know where your mother lives. If you want cake; you are helping. Now make the whipped cream."

Jane grinned like the Cheshire Cat as she got one of Maura's Queensware bowls, setting the Boston historic piece on the counter with care before she starting hunting for the antique hand beater that was her current favorite kitchen tool with her typical Rizzoli noise of banging cupboard doors. "Maura! You didn't let Ma take my beater did you?"

Maura rolled her eyes. "Of course not, Jane. It is probably where you left it-in the cereal shelf or somewhere else entirely inappropriate."

"That's not being 'inappropriate', Maura, that's called protecting it from Ma before she can find another one of my undercover-but-pretending-not-to-be neighbors to give it to." She growled. "I still don't have my Bundt pan back."

Maura's brow creased. "You actually use a Bundt pan?"

Jane sighed. "Of course not, Maura. That's not the point. The point is that I still don't have it."

Her mouth twitched. "Would you feel better if I put your hand beater in my safe?"

"Actually, yes, yes, I would." Jane found it and made a triumphant noise. She clutched it to her and dropped her normal rasp to a cloying purr. "My precious."

Maura laughed. She felt obscurely delighted that Jane was so possessive of it.

The pathologist sobered.

She had purchased it for the detective once their late night 'take-out' dinners shifted themselves somehow into late night cooking together. And after one of those nights when she had caught Jane hiding in her guest room gripping her hands tightly in pain. When Jane had at last admitted that each time she used the electric beater, the high speed vibration agonized the damaged nerves in her hands. She had been horrified.

Jane had never complained.

"Seriously, Maura? Why do I need a translator to find the damn vanilla in here?"

Maura blinked and then her fine lips twitched at the look on Jane's face as she stared outraged into the flavoring cupboard at all the dark bottles with foreign script. "Philistine. The quality of the extract significantly affects the culinary taste experience; as does the specific type of the extract."

Jane looked over her shoulder at Maura in wide-eyed open horror. "Wait, are you kiddingme, you mean all this in here is just vanilla?"

She laughed at the priceless expression. "Of course not, Jane, I have many flavor extracts."

"How many are vanilla?" Jane demanded.

"Oh, while there are a number of vanilla extras, culinary tradition here in America usually selects one of three: Madagascar Bourbon which is richly aromatic, Tahitian which is smoothly fruity, or Mexican which is a creamy sweet spice. So I-"

Jane sighed and tilted her head back to stare long-sufferingly at the vaulted ceiling. "Maura. I want cake, not an episode of Iron Chef. Jane it for me."

The doctor's hazel eyes sparkled. "Look for the red and cream colored label. In Spanish." She tilted her head, eyes becoming positively mischievous now, "Of course that would be Espanol Mexicano, not Ladino or Peninsular-"

"Ugh, it's like you're a Vulcan or something." Jane made a little hoarse crow of delight as she found it and she took the vanilla to the counter and began combining ingredients in her bowl. "Now stop torturing me and 'fess. What exactly are you doing with my cake?" She stopped mid beat to fix Maura with a stare.

Maura gave her a look right back and they both wrinkled noses at each other.

"I'm making le gateau grille de livre de crème sure avec du chocolate a complete par la crème fouettee."

Jane stopped beating again. "I meant me exact not you exact!" She got a revolted look, "And what kind of villain ruins chocolate and cake with grilled liver?

Maura tried to keep a perfectly straight face but failed. "Livre not liver. Grilled sour cream pound cake with chocolate, topped with whipped cream."

The woman's dark lashed eyes went almost comically huge in utter awe. "You know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich for dessert? I love grilled cheese sandwiches. Grilled cheese sandwiches are like manna from God. Oh, I so love you now."

Maura put her hands on her black Alexander McQueen skirted hips. "Jane! There is no cheese or bread in-"

"Same difference. "This is so cool."

Maura gave up trying to argue the nuances and flicked her elegant fingers. "So stop talking and whip the cream."

Jane started in on the cream with a single minded ferocity.

Maura laughed softly to herself while she pulled out her pretty French Mauviel fry pan. She set the stove top's heat, adjusting it precisely as she would any of her morgue's equipment. Once she was satisfied, she set the copper bottomed pan on to reach the proper temperature.

"Okay, boss, the cream is official whipped. Now what?"

"Go ahead and put it in the refrigerator to chill while we begin the assembling."

"Huh," Jane teased, "didn't know that you knew that."

Maura's smooth brow knit in confusion. "Regulate temperature?"

"Assemble."

"I do not-" Then she got it. Her eyes went incredulous. "Are you telling me a . . . morgue joke?"

"Want another one?"

"Absolutely not, Jane. You know how much I dislike disrespecting the dead!"

"I'm not disrespecting the dead."

"Then what do you call that?"

"Disrespecting the Queen of the dead."

"You can always go to bed without cake, you know."

Jane laughed and held out her arms in surrender. "Okay, okay, your majesty!"

Maura narrowed hazel eyes to almost slits. "Jane." She warned.

Eyes the exact color of Maura's favorite chocolate looked back at her with merry wickedness and after a moment, in spite of herself, the ME began to smile. She shook her head in wry humored disbelief. "You are incorrigible, Jane Clementine Rizzoli."

Jane came and stood next to her, bumping her expensive silk-crepe hip with an old blue jeaned one. "Admit it, you like it."

Maura bumped her right back. "Never."

"Now can I have cake?" She gave big puppy eyes.

Maura laughed and swatted her. "Fine. Now, watch me do the first one so you can follow the procedure correctly."

"Yes, my Queen."

"Jane-"

"Alright, alright! Let me eat cake!"

Maura started to open her mouth.

Jane clamped a hand over it. "I know, I know, a French urban legend of Marie Antoinette. Resist it, Maura, resist it. Use the Force."

The doctor shoved at the detective's hand to free her mouth, blushing at just how well her friend did know her. "Jane!" But the lips curved in spite of her irritation and she laughed again.

"Now show me this dessert before my brain joins yours in Geriatrics."

"Are you actually going to pay attention this time?"

"What do you mean this time?"

"Are you forgetting what happened in my morgue yesterday?"

"Hey, that wasn't my fault!"

"Not your fault? Jane, you caused the entire fire suppressant system to go off!"

"Bass distracted me!"

Maura's eyebrows vaulted and she looked down at her decades old African spurred tortoise sitting on the grey-green and red Swithland slate, watching them over his evening 'salad' of mulberry, turnip and collard greens with artfully arranged rose petals, hibiscus and shredded yams. "You fell over him, Jane."

"Yeah, hence the distraction!"

The tortoise looked at Jane with reproachful eyes. Then he slowly pulled his head back in his shell.

"Oh, come on, Bass! I said I was sorry! Maura, tell him I'm sorry!"

Maura smiled lovingly at her long-time companion, her voice softening to sweetest gentleness. "Jane did not mean to frighten you, Bass."

The great tortoise seemed to ponder it for awhile and then cautiously his head eased out again.

"How come the turtle gets that tone and I don't?" Jane pouted.

Maura sighed. "The tortoise gives me significantly less trouble." Her hazel eyes sparkled and she whispered conspiratorially to Bass. "Do not let it bother you, Bass, she just as shell envy."

Jane made an outraged squawk. "I do not!" She shoved the pathologist.

Bass bobbed his head up and down.

Maura laughed delightedly. "See, Bass, agrees!"

The detective's bottom lip came out. "Great, I'm being harassed by the Queen of the Dead and her turtle sidekick. Now you owe me cake."

Maura patted Jane's arm comfortingly and gave a mocking coo, playfully. "Poor baby."

"I'll poor baby you, woman!"

Maura laughed and picked up the sliced cake, moving to the now heated pan. "Are you paying attention, now?"

"Yes, mother." Jane joined her at the stove and made a soft grunt as the delicate woman elbowed her in the ribs.

"Bring the tablets and the softened unsalted organic butter on the counter, Jane."

"Okay—wait, what?"

"The tablets and the butter."

Jane's nose wrinkled and she looked around the kitchen. "Tablets are for internet searches, not cake, Maura."

"The chocolate, Jane."

"Ohhh, you mean the bars, like every other normal person says?"

"It is considered linguistically customary to refer to the chocolatier molded portions as-"

"Fine, fine! I have your tablets." Jane waved the chocolate at Maura to stop the coming lecture and dragged the butter over to them. "Now what?"

Maura gave her a look but continued with their dessert. "Now spread a small amount of the butter on one side each of two slices of the sour cream pound cake."

"How much is small?"

"Approximately the amount one would normally spread on toast."

Jane looked at Maura.

"Approximately the amount one should normally spread on toast."

"So an Isles amount not a Rizzoli amount," grinned Jane, "got it." The two took turns preparing their slices, Maura with her usual precision neatness and Jane with her usual Italian chaos. Looking at the almost exactly opposite sets of slices, Maura had to smile. It was completely symbolic of them.

And it felt entirely right.

"Now open your Chocolat Au Lait while I do the same for my Chuao."

"So funny, Jane. Mine has seventy-eight percent Old Criollo cocoa bean, which makes it 'dark', yours has a minimum of thirty-five percent which makes it 'milk'."

"At some point, I keep hoping you'll remember that I actually speak American, not Maura."

"Ever so funny, Jane. And it is North American English. The particular dialect is one of several linguist variants of the English lexicon which includes-"

Jane looked over her shoulder at Maura's tortoise. "Bass, make her stop and I'll buy you those English lexicon strawberries you like."

The tortoise turned his head towards Maura and tilted it.

Jane pumped her fist in the air. "Yes!"

Maura laughed and shoved Jane with her hip. "You are so bad." She shook a finger at Bass. "Traitor."

The African spurred Bass bobbed his head and went back to munching his 'salad'.

"Break the tablet-"

"Bar."

"Fine, break the bar into sections. We need just enough to cover the surface area of one slice."

Jane shook her head at Maura but grinned as she broke her chocolate.

"Now, lay one slice of the cake in the pan gently, butter side down, like so."

The sweet smell of grilling buttered sour cream pound cake filled the kitchen.

Jane licked her lips and bounced on her sneakered feet. "Oh, I'm liking this already."

Maura smiled, pleased that her dessert selection was acceptable to the detective. She had found herself spending more and more time planning menu items based on projected compatibility with Jane rather than strict nutrition. Far less healthful but far more enjoyable.

Not that she planned on ever admitting that.

"Now set your chocolate sections on the cake to cover it sufficiently over its surface but not to surpass its edges."

Jane worked the pieces around, trying to get the best fit. "This is like a chocolate tangram."

The medical examiner looked at Jane in complete surprise. "You know the Chinese 'seven boards of skill'?"

"What? I went to kindergarten, it's no big deal."

"Jane, the tangram is quite possibly the oldest psychological test in human history-"

"I thought that was reserved for patting your head and rubbing your belly at the same time."

Maura poked her in the ribs. "It was originally introduced in The Eighth Book of Tam, a fictional historical record which-"

"I love you, Maura, really, but my chocolate is melting."

Maura looked down at the pan in alarm. "Oh! Put the second slice on top of the chocolate sections, butter side facing up." She waited a few moments and then pulled a spatula out of a drawer and skillfully turned her piece. She held out the tool to Jane but the detective waved it off.

"Yeah, right. You remember what happened when I flipped that pancake, right? This has layers, Maura."

The ME reflexively looked at the ceiling, even though she knew she had long gotten the sticky remnants of pancake off it. She flipped Jane's cake.

"I still do not understand how you did that, Jane. Your mother cooks pancakes for us quite frequently. Surely, she did so while you were growing up."

"Yeah, and the operative word is 'she'."

Maura patted her arm comfortingly. "Well, perhaps you would have done better if you had not been psychologically under stress at the time."

"That's sweet, Maura. And no. Heck, the last time I flipped burgers, Joe Friday got them."

"Oh. Well, perhaps your inability to manipulate a spatula could be due not to your physiological skill set, but to your high distractibility issues."

"And that's not so sweet, Maura." Jane peered down at the grilling cake. "Is it done, yet?"

Maura tilted her head, eyes teasing her friend. "Or, it could be due to your extremely low patience threshold."

"Maura."

She laughed. "Get the Staffordshire dessert plates; they will make the proper presentation." Jane started over to the dish cupboard and Maura's eyes glinted. "They are the blue, white and gold small circular things on the middle shelf."

"Ha, ha," detective snorted. "I said to Jane it not Giovanni it. And just you keep it up; I know where you sleep, woman."

Maura grinned and retrieved the chilled whipped cream and then turned the stove off. Jane set the plates on the counter with the exaggerated care she always gave the expensive breakables in Maura's house and watched amused as the pathologist arranged each piece with perfect exactness on the plates and then carefully set a precise dollop of whipped cream on top.

"Looks good, Picasso."

Pleased, Maura pulled two sterling dessert forks from their mahogany and burl Georgian chest and the Egyptian crème linen napkins from the softly scented drawer beneath them.

Jane was no Boston Brahman. Maura knew for a fact that she could have used Dixie paper plates and appallingly cheap plastic for all the other cared, but she found that she liked using fine things for Jane.

Jane might never believe herself worth it, but Maura did.

And she was firmly determined to show it. Even in the little things like taking dessert.

The two retired from the kitchen and sat on the leather sofa—Jane kicking off her shoes and tucking her bare feet beneath her and Maura sitting as properly as she always did. Jane dug in hungrily.

And rolled her eyes in utter delight. "Oh, my—Maura, this is unbelievable. I mean, holy crap." She shoved her bare foot against the doctor's thigh in reprimand. "You are so bad for not having made this for me before!" She leaned over the side of the sofa to holler into the kitchen. "Bass! You need to go eat one of Maura's shoes to teach her a lesson for me."

Maura gasped. "Jane!"

Jane grinned and winked conspiratorially at her pet. "What do you say, Bass? Can you do that for me buddy? I'll help you find her favorite pair. We can even put some of those fancy strawberries on the really expensive leather parts."

The tortoise tilted his head thinking, then looked at Maura and then back at Jane.

Both Jane and Maura watched him seeming to consider the detective's proposition. Then very ponderously he began to turn himself towards the hallway.

"Jane!" Maura yelped. She set down her plate down hurriedly and all but bolted down to her bedroom suite to shut the door, while Jane laughed herself almost right off the sofa.

Maura came back and glared at her. "If he eats my Saint Laurent's, Jane, so help me-" She picked up the pillow Jane had thrown down earlier and threatened the other woman with it. "-I will use you as a practice run for Dr. Pike!"

"Okay, okay!" Jane took a pained breath, wiping tears off her face.

"You tell him!"

"Maura! He's a turtle, not a child, he can't understand you."

"Tortoise!" she hissed and stabbed a beautifully manicured nail in Bass's direction.

The African spurred was now slowly making his way out of the kitchen, orienting his heavy shelled body right at the hallway. And straight for Maura's suite.

Jane began laughing all over again.

Maura snatched Jane's plate away.

Jane straightened, sobering instantly. "Oh, hey! Fine! Bass don't eat Maura's holy shoes so she'll give me back my cake!"

The tortoise paused. He turned his head to Jane and then back towards the bedroom.

Maura positively growled. "Jane."

Jane rolled her eyes. "I'll keep Jo Friday from licking on your shell this week," she bribed.

Bass tilted his head thoughtfully again. Then slowly he began to turn himself back around to the kitchen.

"See? All good. Now can I have my cake back?"

"You are impossible, Jane." But Maura gave the plate back and resettled herself on the sofa, smoothing her skirt exactly so it was absolutely free of wrinkles before picking up her own plate again. "And that is entirely unhygienic," she sniffed, gathering her self-possession back.

"Yeah," Jane snorted, "for the dog."

Maura glared.

Jane just grinned back, completely unrepentant. "I can do this all night."

The pathologist narrowed her eyes dangerously. Then very, very slowly she smiled and her white teeth took on a suddenly predatory gleam. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "You know, I have been wanting to attend the London Pathology Series, what with all that large amount of holiday time I have built up."

Jane stilled. "What?"

"And since Dr. Pike really needs to rebuild his retirement savings after that forensic particle vacuum fiasco, I am absolutely sure that he would love to fill in for me."

Jane blanched. "You . . . wouldn't."

"It should work out splendidly; after all, I know how well the two of you work together."

"Maura." Jane looked downright ill.

"In fact, I believe the entire Homicide Division—no, the entire Precinct!-would absolutely thank you for insuring that the Boston morgue could continue to operate to such a high standard of adherence to proper procedure for the entire duration of my three month stay."

Jane just stared at her in absolute horror. "That . . . that is evil, Maura!"

Maura took a delicate bit of cake onto her fork and smiled sweetly. "I told you, Jane. I know all kinds of ways. Now be a good girl and eat your cake."