“I had a cousin who had been helped by some women who run an underground railroad several years ago. I called my mother and between her, two of my sisters, and many cousins, we came up with a plan. When Amalie was recovered enough to go out, we went shopping at Neiman Marcus. We, of course, had six security people with us at all times. Fortunately for us, they were all men. Lincoln Moss does not like women for some reason. Maybe Amalie is right about that.

“Anyway, we went into the dressing room looking like ourselves and came out looking like two old ladies. My cousins were waiting for us. They entered the dressing room looking like we looked when we walked out. Moss’s security saw them enter before we did, so they weren’t paying attention when we left in our new disguises. We headed for the nearest door, and that’s the end of the story until that picture appeared in the tabloid.”

“Lincoln wants . . . expects to step into Gabriel Knight’s shoes when his term of office is over. He’s spent these years currying favor, making a name for himself so that when his time comes, as he put it, he’ll win the party’s nomination by a landslide. As we all know, Lincoln Moss is a handsome man albeit an evil one. He turns on the charisma like a faucet. He said it would be Camelot all over again with me, his beautiful wife, as the First Lady. It was sickening to listen to him. And, of course, there is his little black book of secrets, which he guards with his life. Are you sure I’m safe with you people?” Amalie asked anxiously.

“Safe as you can possibly be,” Myra said. “What about your family? What do they think?”

Amalie snorted. “He allowed me to call home once a month, and he wrote out a script for me to read. As far as they know, I am happily married and love, just love, living in America. Lincoln constantly sent gifts and flowers to them. I hate to admit it, but my family has become a little shallow since meeting him. They love the freebies and the attention he showers on them.”

“Understandable to a point,” Maggie said sourly.

“Now what happens?” Rosalee and Amalie asked at the same moment.

“Now what happens is we all put our heads together and see how we can make Saturday evening work for us,” Myra said. She looked around the glass-topped table, and said, “We’re open to any and all suggestions.”

Amalie raised her hand, albeit hesitantly. “What is happening Saturday evening?”