Chapters (65)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty–one
- Twenty–two
- Twenty–three
- Twenty–four
- Twenty–five
- Twenty–six
- Twenty–seven
- Twenty–eight
- Twenty–nine
- Thirty
- Thirty–one
- Thirty–two
- Thirty–three
- Thirty–four
- Thirty–five
- Thirty–six
- Thirty–seven
- Thirty–eight
- Thirty–nine
- Forty
- Forty–one
- Forty–two
- Forty–three
- Forty–four
- Forty–five
- Forty–six
- Forty–seven
- Forty–eight
- Forty–nine
- Fifty
- Fifty–one
- Fifty–two
- Fifty–three
- Fifty–four
- Fifty–five
- Fifty–six
- Fifty–seven
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgments
- Also by Becky Masterman
- About the Author
- Newsletter Sign-up
But then there had been some sort of commotion and Carlo had welcomed someone who’d come in that didn’t sound like Brigid. Carlo said he would have to call Beaufort back. Beaufort had said good-bye and hung up the phone, putting two and two together to come up with the realization that Quinn was on to him, though how that could be he didn’t know. All he had known was that “Tampa” must mean she was going to talk to Detective Ian Meadows, and that had been enough to get him on the phone with Yanchak.
Once this was all over he had to take care of Gloria. Over the last few days she hadn’t seemed as perky as she had been at first. He’d had to put her in her place that night when he caught her going through his wallet, right? You’d think she would have gotten over it by now. Maybe flowers were getting a little old. Some Russell Stover’s maybe? Or even a trip up to the Grand Canyon. She said she’d been there, but he’d never seen it. They could take Achilles.
As for wondering what to do about getting rid of Brigid Quinn, it looked like she was doing it for him.
If there had been any more possibility of talking, Gemma-Kate spoiled it. She had let herself into the house with a stack of books in her arms yelling (at least yelling insofar as Gemma-Kate is capable of expressing her emotions) something I couldn’t quite hear.
I had left the bedroom door open when I went to take a shower, but Carlo, who had put his jeans and shirt back on, was in the living room and knew to close the door. I thought I heard the phone ring, but found the pugs trapped with me and barking madly to get out to Gemma-Kate, though again I couldn’t imagine why. They must know something about her that the rest of us do not, I realized. By the time I had dressed and come out, Carlo had poured three glasses of tawny port and was listening to GK like his life depended on it. How strange for me to think of it that way.
Now much more her subdued self, when Gemma-Kate saw me she halted the conversation to ask, “What’s with the surveillance equipment? If you were any more fortified you’d have drones bombing you for potential ISIS intelligence.”
“Too bad about inheriting the Quinn sarcasm,” I said. “How did you get here and why did you come?”