Joe opened the second panel door and reached into the van to gather her equipment. Todd, Frances noted, had brought a book. He settled on a folding chair, oblivious to the activity around him by all appearances, and began to read.
Joe had the panel doors off in a few minutes. He paused to wipe sweat from his brow with a nasty bandanna. “Lot of work for an old van,” he observed.
“But worth it,” Frances said. “Old doesn’t mean dead.” She winked at him, guessing they were simpatico on that idea. Whatever Joe thought was apparently going to remain a mystery—he handed her a face shield.
Frances donned it, then picked up a piece of sheet metal she’d asked for and took it into the van to measure it. She’d learned to work metal with welding one long-ago summer, when the gardener at her family home had enlisted her to help with the iron fence. Her father was gone most of the time, and she’d been happy to have something to do. Mr. Mobley, the gardener, took her to an art show that featured metal. She’d fallen in love with the twisted metal sculptures. She’d been so inspired she signed up for an art class. Alas, her desire to make art never went anywhere. But she’d learned how to use a blowtorch.
She worked for half an hour, taking measurements, cuttingthe new metal for the false floor. If anyone was curious about a skinny septuagenarian woman cutting and welding sheet metal, they didn’t ask. That was the difference between the rich and the rest of the world, she thought. Rich people assumed that elderly women were incapable of anything much more than some knitting, casual dog walks, and throwing an occasional dinner party. But in the rest of the world, people assumed everyone had to work, and it didn’t matter how old one was.
At some point, Todd wandered over to have a look inside. He studied her work with a critical eye. “You should put in a spring release for easier access.”
Frances hadn’t thought of that. “Great idea. But I didn’t get springs.”
“Joe’s got ’em.” Todd disappeared but returned a moment later with Joe. The two of them examined the flooring.
“Got it,” Joe said, and disappeared again.
By the end of the day, Frances and Joe had successfully removed the floor of the van and installed a new one, a few inches higher than the old one. There was enough space to hide several canvas bags.
She and Joe and Todd stood back and studied their handiwork. “What do you think?” Frances asked.
“I think anyone gets a good close-up, they’ll know it’s fake,” Joe said.
“Yeah, but who’s going to get that close?” Todd chimed in.
“Maybe when we paint them it won’t be so obvious,” Frances suggested, but it was clear Joe didn’t think that was going to help matters. Still, Frances was pleased. She said she’d be back tomorrow to paint and work on the outside of the van, hammering out dents and replacing a rusted bumper. Removing anything that would make the van easy to identify. She paid Todd, Joe, and the man with the tattoo sleeves in cash. Todd texted Skinner, and when he arrived, the two of them climbed into his pickup truck, Frances smashed between them.
She was beyond exhausted when they dropped her off. She hadn’t called Amani today, but that had to be a priority in the morning. She looked at her phone and noticed a text from Marjorie reminding her of the cruise. She knew Marjorie would not let up about that cruise, and she could not afford to be distracted over the next few days. So, she pulled out her laptop and booked two spots, then texted Marjorie with the information.
Marjorie responded almost immediately.Wonderful! Can’t wait to see you there. Call as soon as you can so we can talk about what we’re wearing.
“I’ll do that, Marge,” Frances muttered, and lay down, intending only to rest her eyes.
When she opened them again, it was dark. She could hear voices in the other room.
She pushed herself up, pausing to press both hands to the sides of her head with the ridiculous hope it would ease her pounding headache. It did not. She took a pain pill, then forced herself up and went into the other room.
She found Marcy standing in the middle of the small living area in a floor-length red gown. The neckline dipped to her navel, and the back … well, there was no back. It showcased her flawless skin and curvy frame.
Edie was futzing with her hair, but then Marcy used both hands to bat Edie away. “I can do it.”
“Franny, there you are,” Edie said. “Show her your walk, Marcy.”
Marcy groaned loudly, but she walked, moving with such fluid grace that it was impossible to believe this the same young woman who’d stomped across the room just last night. “Wow,” Frances said, truly impressed with the transformation.
Edie wore a proud grin. “We’ve got it all worked out. Marcy will be in the bar in the Nest. You and I will be nearby, watching.”
“Me?” Frances didn’t have enough energy for a night out.
“Yes, you. How is the van?”
Frances held up her hands, nicked and bruised and looking arthritic. “It’s great.”
Irene suddenly appeared from the kitchen. “Glad you’re all here. I’ve got news.”
“You figured out how to turn off the power to the casino,” Edie said.
“Almost, but that’s—”
