Page 38 of Almost Dead (The Cahills 2)

“You know I like beef,” Marla reminded her in that same cool soft voice that irritated the hell out of Elyse. The quieter Marla got, the stronger her words seemed to be. Oh, she was so sly, a master at the psychological game-playing.

“I just thought, after the hamburger, you might want something different.” But maybe not. Marla’s minifridge was stocked with salads and soups in cups that only required heating in the microwave. There were apples on top of the refrigerator and instant oatmeal along with the coffeemaker and special French roast blend that Marla had insisted upon, some kind of obscure coffee she’d had ten years earlier. Elyse had worked hard to find that stuff and had Marla even uttered one word of thanks? Of course not!

“Just try on the clothes and we’ll go out in a week or so, once they’re convinced that you’re in Oregon or Washington. I’ve got a guy who agreed to drop off your prison clothes at a rest stop on I-5, somewhere around Roseburg. The cops will think you’re heading north or making a run for the Canadian border. Either way, the heat will be off San Francisco.”

For once, Marla looked relieved. “Good,” she said, and actually showed some interest in the sandwich. “I don’t try to be a bitch.”

It just comes naturally, Elyse thought, but clenched her teeth and didn’t let the words pass through her lips. “And I’ll look for something else for you to wear.”

“Do I have to be fat?”

Here we go with the demands.

“It will help. No one will expect you to have gained weight. It’s just a disguise.”

“I’ve never been heavy in my life

.”

“Exactly.” Time to experience new lows in self-esteem.

Marla gave up a long-suffering sigh, but didn’t argue.

“Look, we can start with your hair. Let me trim it a little,” and to her surprise, Marla didn’t argue. “Here, you can watch.” She found the hand mirror that Marla always kept near her and handed it to the vain woman, forcing it into her tense fingers.

“I don’t know…”

“Marla, please.”

“Not too much,” Marla warned.

“Just a trim…We can talk about color later.” She found a pair of scissors and began snipping carefully at Marla’s long, mahogany-colored tresses. She was careful with her scissors, clipping around the edges of Marla’s hair and sneaking a few locks into her pocket. Fortunately, Marla was too busy gazing at herself to notice.

Only when Elyse pulled harder, as if her finger had gotten caught in a few hairs, pulling them out by the roots, did Marla look up sharply, her gaze finding Elyse’s in the mirror. “Ouch!” she shrieked. “What’re you trying to do? Scalp me?”

“Sorry. Mistake,” Elyse lied.

“Well, for Christ’s sake, be careful!” Marla hissed in a low, angry whisper as she shot Elyse a baleful look full of mistrust.

“I said I was sorry, okay?” Elyse pretended to be wounded. “I’m just trying to help. See how nice this is going to look when I’m finished?”

“Fine.” She eyed her reflection critically, and Elyse held her breath. “So, tell me again about Eugenia,” she finally said, calmer now, nearly smiling, in fact. It was almost as if the pampering had mollified her.

God, the woman had an ego! And a temper.

Elyse felt a little niggle of trepidation. Marla could be so deadly. Elyse had witnessed Marla’s volatile mood swings with her own eyes. She reminded herself to watch her back. On the day that they’d made good on Marla’s escape, she’d been elated. There had been an almost manic jubilation on Marla’s part; her eyes had been as green and deep as the waters of San Francisco Bay, her smile absolutely infectious. No wonder men had fallen all over themselves to be with her. She was pushing fifty, but you’d never know it. She’d kept in shape in prison and even with minimal makeup she was beautiful. She’d let her hair blow free on the day of the escape, rolling down the window of the car that they’d picked up at a rest stop, drinking in the fresh, damp air despite the cold and fog that had socked in the entire Bay Area.

But now, of course, some of that euphoria had worn off. The gleam of triumph that had been so evident when Marla had slipped away from the prison in a delivery van had disappeared. She was paranoid. Hiding behind double locks in a dark basement, the jubilation having dissipated to become something akin to depression…silent, moody, dark depression. Sometimes Elyse had to work hard to scare up a smile, or even a word, from the woman.

Not for the first time Elyse wondered if the risk of springing Marla had been a mistake.

Well, there was no going back.

It was all part of the plan, all for the money.

Remember the money.

They had planned that she’d hide out here, and the escape had been years in the making. Years! Elyse couldn’t blow it now. Wouldn’t.

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