Page 32 of Killers of a Certain Age

“I like it,” Mary Alice puts in loyally.

“It’s not a matter of liking it,” Helen protests. “It could get Billie remembered and that is dangerous.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Billie tells her.

The truth is, Billie is scared. She has let enough of herself slip away already. Elocution lessons have rubbed the edges off her Texas drawl; the reading lists have improved her vocabulary. The art and history they have absorbed have broadened her world to a vastness she has never before imagined. She is not entirely certain who she is anymore. But if she puts a fingertip to the little ridge that sits just above her lip, she can remember herself.

Two weeks later, they are on a plane for Nice.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The morning after I called Sweeney, we slept in. We still had rest to catch up on and a rendezvous to plan, but we also had the luxury of a few days to prepare. During breakfast, Mary Alice made a heroic effort to behave normally, wrestling with the hot plate to fix everybody’s eggs the way they wanted. Afterwards, I did yoga, stretching out my sore knees and screaming a little inside when my downward-facing dog came out more like a junkyard mutt. I felt about a hundred years old and looked it too, I decided as I inspected my face after my shower. I slapped on some rosehip oil and hoped for the best. I was halfway into a pair of cashmere joggers when I changed my mind and reached for my jeans instead. The joggers were featherlight and warm as toast, but the jeans made me feel like I hadn’t quite given up yet. I was crossing the courtyard when I heard a rattle at the gate, like someone was trying the latch. The odds that anybody from the Museumhad found us were long, but I wasn’t taking chances. I picked up a piece of rebar from the pile of construction material in the courtyard and hefted it. As a weapon it would do in a pinch.

I crept to the gate, balancing my weight on the balls of my feet. I held the rebar in one fist, the grip just firm enough to keep it steady. Most people grasp a weapon until their knuckles turn white, but that just tires out your hand. Like playing piano or giving a good hand job, it’s all in the wrist.

I peered through a gap in the privacy screen and almost dropped the rebar.

“I’ll be damned,” I said, flinging open the gate.

Akiko was standing on the other side, clutching a pet carrier that rattled and thrashed. She shoved it into my hands as she hurtled past me. I grabbed her bag off the sidewalk and took a quick look either direction down the empty street before slamming the gate closed again.

I shouldered the bag and followed her into the courtyard. Mary Alice came flying out of the house, arms wide, and they held on to each other, gulping down silent sobs while the rest of us watched.

They kissed and hugged again and finally broke apart as the carrying case in my arms shook hard enough to rattle the Richter scale. “What the hell is in here, a poltergeist?” I asked Akiko.

She wiped her wet cheeks. “That’s Kevin. He doesn’t like to travel.”

I bent to look through the mesh screen on the front of the case and something inside hissed what sounded like a satanic incantation.

“You brought the cat?” Mary Alice asked, smiling from ear to ear.

“Of course I brought the cat,” Akiko said, smoothing her hair. “He’s family.”

She greeted the rest of us then, and we went into the house. “Am I supposed to let this thing out?” I asked.

Akiko waved a hand. “Just open the front. He’ll come out when he’s ready.”

I put the case on the floor and stepped out of the way while I flicked the front open with one finger. Whatever was inside stayed there, and I turned my attention to Akiko and Mary Alice, who were sitting at the table, hand in hand. Helen and Natalie grabbed chairs and looked expectantly at me while I looked expectantly at Mary Alice.

“You want to explain?” I suggested.

Mary Alice might have played it for embarrassment or defiance. She split the difference, lifting her chin but blushing heavily as she talked. “I called her. When you were picking up the rental car at the Birmingham airport. Don’t look at me like that—I borrowed a cell phone from a very nice woman who was waiting at baggage claim.”

“They could have tapped your home phone,” I reminded her.

Mary Alice turned on me. “Don’t you dare give me shit about this, Billie. I took all the necessary precautions and I gave her precise instructions on how to make sure she was clean of a tail.”

“Yeah,” Akiko said happily. “I’m a natural at this spy shit.”

“Spy?” I asked politely. I gave Mary Alice a meaningful look.

She turned forty shades of puce and looked at her wife. “I think I have some explaining to do.”

“Is this where you tell me you’re not a spy?” Akiko asked, still smiling.

“I’m not,” Mary Alice said.

Akiko laughed. “That’s just what a spy would say.”

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