Beaufort’s car was in the driveway as expected, with the gate unlatched. What I didn’t expect was to see Gloria’s lime green Beetle there as well. I’d felt certain she would be at work and safely out of the way. It was hard enough to go into a situation like this dealing with Beaufort and Carlo. It was even harder to try to imagine to what extent Beaufort might have Gloria in thrall to him. Was she a victim or an accomplice? A woman like that could go either way.

I picked up the black garbage bag by the top where it fastened, slopping it around in the little clear pool on the plastic covering the seat. Carefully stripping off my plastic gloves, I got out of the car, leaving my phone on the dashboard and my gun in the glove compartment. I had to appear totally helpless in order for this to work.

I slammed the door so he’d know I was coming. Everything on the up-and-up. I was doing as ordered within limits. I had no doubts that before the next thirty minutes were over he expected both Carlo and me to be dead.

He should have no inkling that I could kill him instead. To hide that thought I washed the image of Carlo being hurt out of my mind and off my face. I regretted my threats. It was important that when Beaufort first saw me his impression would be that of a vulnerable, worried, weak, old woman.

Certainly he would have Carlo tied up. Maybe tape over his mouth so he couldn’t yell, not that Carlo would. He would do what Beaufort told him to do. I thought I knew Carlo.

Don’t think of Carlo. I arranged my face again, pursed my lips and made them tremble.

Beaufort must have been watching through the venetian blinds, because when I reached the door he said, “It’s open.”

So I went in. I never thought I’d be relieved to see someone standing in front of me with his weapon trained on my face. This was what I expected him to do. So far, so good. Well, not altogether. I didn’t see Gloria. But I focused only on what I had to do.

“Close the door,” Beaufort said to me, and then, “Hold out your arms.”