Lucy sighed. The Evil Queen was demanding, temperamental, and difficult, and Lucy should hate her guts, but the social worker inside her couldn’t. Beneath all that bluster was a lost soul trying to cope with a life that had gone out of control, a lost soul who understood exactly how crazy she was but couldn’t figure out what to do about it.

Lucy and the Evil Queen had a lot in common, although the Evil Queen knew what she wanted to do with her life, and all Lucy knew was what she didn’t want to do—knock on more doors begging for more money and more legislation that would help children. Which made her the lowest of the low.

Panda set the bottle aside and gazed at Lucy. “What if her disguise was more than a wig?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean …” Panda turned to Temple. “Your pal, the president’s daughter, has had lots of experience hiding her identity, and I don’t mean just her current stomach-churning disguise.” He took in Lucy’s now-neon-pink dreads. “If you persuade her, I’m sure she’ll share her secrets.”

An hour later, the three of them were on their way into town. Temple slouched in the backseat, her long hair concealed under the short brown wig, her face shielded by sunglasses and an unremarkable straw sunhat. Lucy wore her black tank, the one embellished with a skull and roses; a pair of denim Daisy Dukes she’d frayed and spiced up with safety pins; her nose ring and two eyebrow rings. Panda wore his black Nike ball cap, his hair curling slightly from beneath the bottom edge. Lucy had asked him to ditch his aviators because they made him look too much like Secret Service.

Temple’s gray yoga pants fit a bit more loosely than when she’d arrived, but not her purple knit top, which stretched tightly across her middle, thanks to the small pregnancy pillow Lucy had secured beneath it.

Beachcomber Boulevard was closed to traffic for the parade, and Panda looked for a parking place on a side street. “Remember what I said, Temple. You don’t leave my sight, not even for a second. Lucy, you’re Temple’s cover, so you stick with her. Don’t talk to anybody, but if something happens, Temple’s your pregnant friend from back east.”

“My story is better,” Lucy said. “She’s one more woman you knocked up and plan to abandon first chance you get.”

Panda ignored that. “Don’t even think about trying to give me the slip, Temple. If you have to use the Porta Potti, we all go.”

Temple pushed down her sunglasses and gazed at the back of his neck over the top rim. “I would die before I used a Porta Potti.”

“I’m with you on that one,” Lucy said.