Page 2 of Penny for Your Saints

“Don’t fret Louie,” he croons affectionately, calling me by the nickname my family has used since I was a little girl. He drapes his arm over my shoulders in a sidelong hug before adding conspiratorially: “You didn’t hear it from me, but Lowry tapped Compton—an old dog like me, as a glorified seat warmer.”

“Come on, that’s bull,” I snort dismissively.

“It’s not bull. You know Compton is no spring chicken. This is to give him the requisite respect before his sunset into retirement. He’s there to do an extended victory lap and to prepare Lowry’s heir apparent to seat the throne in the next five to seven years.” He raises his dusty nutmeg brows meaningfully, squeezing me against him.

“Well…shit.” I blink, my stomach reeling as if in free fall—my emotions not yet caught up to this new kernel of information.

“Again, you didn’t hear it from me, but maybe you might wanna approach Lowry’s retirement gala with that in mind… More conservative on the outfit, and a date wouldn’t be a bad idea if Tom the turkey is out.” He pauses carefully before hedging: “I bet if you asked, agent McBride would be your meat shield for the occasion, even if you’re not partners anymore.” Uncle Martin winks and lets go of my shoulder, his bouncing steps in place signaling his readiness to get back to his own run.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just suggest that I invite Dennis-Apple-Polisher-McBride to Lowry’s gala.” I bark a laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “She’d be likely to think I’ve totally lost my better judgment.”

“Yeah, while the other old men like me will approve of the boy-scout of behavioral sciences—Lowry would probably shake you.” Martin throws back his head and laughs—clapping me on the shoulder before he turns his dark brown eyes to me one last time. “If I end up being forced to go, we’ll catch each other being trotted about for the company.” He gives a quick wave as he starts up, jogging away from me down the narrow, paved lane.

“May you be gracefully excused! I’ll see you and Gram for Christmas Eve at my place if you don’t end up getting roped in!” I call after him, already jogging backward toward my own path home.

I did my best to take Uncle Martin’s words to heart, but I was only able to succeed in half measures.

Yes, I was able to find something that would be both conservative enough to avoid ridicule or suggestions of impropriety by my superiors without also condemning me to old-maid-spinsterdom—almost as sure to end my career as being too risqué.

Pleasing men in power enough to encourage them to share a crumb of that potency and influence—truly a hellish high-wire act if ever there was one, and here I am—traversing the line, arms outstretched in a silent prayer for balance, the threatof being dashed on the rocks of professional ruin ever lurking below.

While inviting a date—even apple-polisher-McBride—might have offered some form of a safety net, I was unable to produce any civilian companion for the evening and unwilling to invite my former partner, Dennis, for such a purpose.

The old brass will have to deal. I spent almost four hours getting gussied up for this gala—they should be happy with what they get.

“There’s my girl!” I hear Susan Lowry—warm alto and distinctive vocal fry over the murmur of voices and the tasteful jazz band facilities hired to play the function.

I turn to face her and can’t help but snort a nervous laugh. As it happens, we’re wearing nearly identical outfits; high-necked sheath dresses with modest keyhole openings in the back—mine a shade of dark green to compliment my coppery auburn French twist—Lowry’s a navy blue to flatter her silvery blond chignon.

“What a fabulous dress—you have excellent taste,” she crows happily, her diamond bracelet winking in the romantic lighting. She raises a half empty champagne flute,and reaches for me with her free hand.

“I learned from the best.” I clink my flute against hers, the crystal making a resonant chime, clutching her soft, knurled hand in mine. “Good thing we didn’t actually buy the same one.” We exchange air kisses—her sigma perfume; lily of the valley, sweet grass, and tart white grape, washes over me, and I feel the rare comfort that I’ve chased time and time again since I lost my mother.

Lowry darts a glance over either shoulder—her husband and a cluster of high-ranking military and bureau officials chatting spiritedly just behind. Satisfied that we can gossip in relative peace, she threads her arm through mine and guides us toward the outskirts of the bustling party conversation.

“Is Tom here with you tonight? Are you two…?” She purses her lips suggestively, her eyes darting to my hand to look for a telltale diamond engagement ring.

“On the contrary,” I sigh, bringing champagne to my lips and taking a less-than-ladylike swig before finishing my answer to Lowry’s question. “We broke up right before Thanksgiving,” I groan

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry.” Lowry makes a clucking noise with her tongue and pats my arm affectionately.

“Don’t be.” I toss back the rest of my champagne on a strangled laugh. “He was not only trying to talk me into taking my dreaded repro sabbatical but also doing his best to sell me on changing gears on my career.” I roll my eyes.

I see the light of anger flicker in Lowry’s eyes at my words, her arm unlinking from mine.

“Of course he was.” She shakes her head, reaching for my empty glass—grabbing the bit of crystal and flagging down a nearby waiter in one fluid motion. “I remember, before I had Jeremy—people wouldn’t stop squawking about when I was going to go on mandatory repro leave. If Phil had even breathed a word about me not returning to the bureau afterward? Divorce would have been the least of his worries.” Susan seethes, placing my empty glass on the passing waiter's tray, exchanging it for another.

Truly, I don’t know what I would have done without Susan Lowry. Having lost my mother just as I was starting grad school really fucked me up in ways I hadn’t been anticipating. Without her mentoring, her deep understanding—as another sigma woman at the bureau—I’m not sure I’d be standing here tonight.

“I know it won’t buy me that much more time.” I sigh wearily, allowing myself to lean against Lowry in a sign of affection, trust, and appreciation for her offered support. “But Compton shouldbe off my ass for at least another month or two once I tell him that Tom was a no go.”

Lowry snorts a dry laugh and drapes her arm over my shoulders, drawing me against her in a half-hug.

“Well, he’ll be off your ass another month or two, as long as you can be a bit more discreet about your extracurriculars.” She gives me a roguish smirk and a near imperceptible wink.

I swallow hard, doing my best not to pull away from her on instinct—unwilling to cede any ground, even to her.

“How do you mean?” I attempt to play dumb, even though I know a professional like Lowry can see right through me in a moment like this. Still, my pride won’t allow me to admit the truth of her first accusation.

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