I whisper, “C’mon, Lily. Burp! Burp!” the way a paramedic tells a cardiac victim to “Breathe! Breathe!” Soon I hear a soft, gentle whoosh. Not sure which end it came from.
The whoosh is followed by a gurgling sound that can mean only one thing: A new doody has come to join the party. Breaking one of the most cherished baby-care rules of all time, I decide to ignore it.
I put Lily back in her baby seat, hand the beloved oven mitt to her, and say goodbye to Ben, who’s standing nearby munching a giant turkey leg. No grunt this time. Just a nod in my direction.
But I’m wiped out. I’ll take any goodbye I can get.
CHAPTER 14
WEDNESDAY NIGHT, AND IT’S been a long, exhausting day. I’m tired and hungry, and I’d love to just stay in my own apartment and chill. But I promised Vicky I’d meet her for dinner. Since there’s no time to change out of my nanny gear and into real clothes, I think about canceling.
Then I get a better idea.
True, Metcalf swore me to secrecy about this new assignment. But I’d feel better if somebody knew what I was up to. Worst-case scenario, if things really go south with the cartel, Vicky will be able to identify my charred body.
Vicky and I have been friends forever, since junior high. Even at thirteen she was tall, blond, and absolutelygorgeous. I tried desperately to hate her back then. We all did. But we couldn’t. She was just too nice.
Even today at fifty, like me, Vicky has stayed that way—tall, gorgeous, and still nice. But now her shoulder-length hair is the color of polished sterling. I get to the restaurant first and am sitting at a table in the rear, nursing a glass of pinot grigio, when Vicky enters. I wave to her and she waves back and walks toward me, pushing past all the people at the bar. I stand up as she gets closer, then screeches to a stop—like Road Runner right before he tumbles off the cliff.Beep-beep.
“Elinor? Holy shit! What happened?”
Vicky’s shocked at my appearance. I knew she would be. I decided to show up in my new nanny body, bust, face, and hair.
“I’m fine. I look like this because of a job,” I tell her.
“Doing what? I’ll have a Negroni, please.” That last statement is to the waiter who’s been watching Vicky since she walked in the door, his tongue practically hanging out of his mouth. He’s falling in love with her. Most men do.
“On the rocks?” he asks.
“Yes, please.”
“Very good, miss,” he says to her. Then he looks at my empty glass. “And another pinot for…” He hesitates.
Oh God. Is he going to sayyour mother?
“For you?” he says, a beat too late.
I nod. With one last wistful look at Vicky, the waiter bows and leaves. I have to smile. Tonight is no differentfrom the way I always feel around Vicky. She’s a living, breathing man-magnet. And I’m like something out ofThe Walking Dead.
“Well?” she says.
Now comes the hard part. I have to tell her what I’m up to, and she’s not going to like it. “I’m, uh, on a special assignment.”
“Oh?”
“With the FBI.”
Her eyes widen. “Don’t tell me this has anything to do with…him.”
Like any cherished friend, Vicky is always ready to declare war on anyone who hurts me. Friends are like that. Girlfriends, anyway. Always ready to take your side, no matter what.
LIZZIE BORDEN: Listen, um, I should tell you—I just gave my father forty whacks. Left him on the dining-room floor bleeding out.
HER FRIEND: Well, whatever. Serves him right. He was always on your case.
“It’s only for a few months,” I tell Vicky, trying to downplay it. “An undercover thing. He wants me to dig up information on somebody. I’ll be living with a family up in Westchester.”
The waiter reappears with Vicky’s Negroni, my pinot, a straw basket filled with an assortment of breads, and a dish of olive oil.
