“And what did you make, Mr. Kincaid?” Vickie asked.
Ben held up his artwork. “A pillow.”
Christina blanched. She whipped her head around and glared at him.
“Because I expect my kids to cushion me in my old age,” he explained.
“Oh, of course.” Everyone laughed. Except Christina.
“Well, that was fun,” Vickie said when they were through. “I learned a lot from that exercise, and I hope you did, too. I feel a lot of love in this room.”
How could she be so perky? Someone needed to turn a fire hose on the woman.
“Let’s start with our breathing exercises. Assume you’re experiencing a contraction peak. Remember, short, shallow breaths, then blow. You don’t want to hyperventilate in the middle of labor.”
Ben watched as all the women in the circle huffed and puffed in unison. They puffed up their cheeks like chipmunks. Short, short, short, long. Short, short, short, long.
“Pssst!” Christina was pushing her hand toward him. “You’re supposed to hold my hand.”
“Why? Surely you can breathe by yourself.”
“It’s how it’s done, you dweeb. Here!” She thrust her hand into his.
Her hand felt warm and soft; he could feel her pulse as she inhaled and exhaled.
“Mr. Kincaid, where’s your focal point?”
He looked up. Vickie appeared to be displeased with him, in a perky sort of way. “Excuse me?”
“You’re her partner, Mr. Kincaid. You’re in charge of bringing the focal point.”
“The focal point?”
“Yes. Some familiar object your partner responds positively to and can concentrate on, to focus her breathing energies. Don’t they do that at St. John’s? It’s a widely recognized technique.”
“Uh, gee,” Ben said. “I guess I left that at home.”
“Hmmph.” Vickie strode sullenly away. Wonderful, Ben thought, now the Childbirth Cheerleader is mad at me.
She returned carrying a small teddy bear. “You can use this as a substitute, dear. Let’s hope your regular partner will be a bit more conscientious.”
“I don’t mean to complain,” Christina said, “but can I request a different focal point? I’ve had bad luck with stuffed animals lately.”
Vickie’s lips pursed tightly together. For a perky woman she was becoming decidedly grumpy. She returned a few moments later with a framed photo of a lumpish newborn and plunked it in front of Christina without discussion.
Ben waited patiently for about ten minutes as the class ran through their breathing exercises. Personally, he thought he did a commendable job of hand-holding.
“All right,” Vickie announced. “Time for the abdominal massage.”
“No,” Ben whispered. “I absolutely refuse.”
“Ben,” Christina hissed, “stop being a pain,”
“I am not going to sit here massaging a pillow!”
“Hurry along,” Vickie said, staring at Ben. “Put your body bolsters in place.”
Ben looked puzzled. “Body bolsters?”
Vickie rolled her eyes and turned away. Apparently he was beyond help.
Marjorie tried to explain. “A firm pillow. Something your friend can rest her tummy on.”
“Darn,” Christina said. “I think we left mine at home.”
Marjorie commiserated with her. “Oh, that’s awful, dear. You’ll never make it through the rest of the session without one.
“I guess I’ll have to try,” Christina said, looking sorrowful. “Unless someone has an extra.”
“I have a spare that I use in the office,” Marjorie said. “It’s just down the street.”
“That’s generous of you,” Ben said, quick on the uptake, “but I’d hate for you to miss any more of the class.”
“Me, too,” Marjorie replied. “You think you’d mind getting it?”
“Me?”
“Well, I don’t want your friend to miss anything. And you don’t seem terribly…occupied at the moment.”
“You’re right,” Ben said, trying to contain himself. “I’ll go.”
Marjorie groped around in her purse. “Here’s the key,” she said. “You shouldn’t have any problem. The security guard doesn’t start taking names until eight.”
“This is awfully nice of you,” Christina said. “I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just a pillow.”
True in more ways than one tonight, Ben thought. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
And he was.
But he made a stop at the locksmith’s first.
27
BEN HOISTED THE HEAVY document boxes out of the back of his Accord and onto the sidewalk in front of the Oneok Building. “I thought we swore we were never, ever going to do something like this again.”
“This is different,” Christina said. She pushed the boxes onto the flat of the dolly. “This isn’t nearly as dangerous.”
“I’m not sure I see the distinction. It’s late at night, we’re breaking into someone’s office, there are guards, possibly alarms, and a high likelihood of getting caught.”
“Ah,” Christina said, recalling their earlier breaking and entering, “but there are no Dobermans.”
“You’re right. I feel much better now.” He tilted the loaded dolly back and pushed it toward the front doors of the office building. He was wearing blue jeans and a blue work shirt. Christina was wearing cling-tight black leggings, a black shirt, and a sequinned black jacket with a gold lame collar.
“By the way,” Ben said, “if you were trying to dress inconspicuously, you failed.”
“I’m not trying to be invisible,” she replied huffily. She held open the door while Ben wheeled the dolly through.
The security guard, sitting behind a large oval station, waited for them to arrive. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“Got a delivery for Quinn Reynolds,” Ben said.
“Awfully late to be making deliveries.”
“We did the best we could. We had to bring these documents all the way from Amarillo.”
The guard nodded toward Christina. “You with him?”
“Oh yes. Haven’t you seen me before? I’m a legal assistant working for Mr. Reynolds. I’ve got to organize these documents.”
“We’ve got a trial first thing in the morning before Judge Schmidt. Mr. Reynolds is going to be furious if we’re not ready.”
At the mention of the judge’s name, the guard’s resistance dissolved. “You got a key?”
“Of course,” she said. “How else would we get in?”
“Okay. I’ll let you up.” He led them to the main bank of elevators. Christina and Ben followed with the dolly. After the elevator doors opened, the guard inserted a card into the metal slot just beneath the floor buttons.
“If you have any problems, call my desk,” the guard said. “Extension 4571.”
“Got it.” The door closed between them.
Ben and Christina exhaled. “See,” Christina said. “I told you it would be easy. You just needed to get the old testosterone pumping, Ben.”
“We’re not home free yet.”
They exited the elevator on the seventh floor and wheeled the document boxes to the front door of Swayze & Reynolds. Ben inserted the key and pushed. No alarm sounded. That was one point in their favor, anyway. Assuming it wasn’t a silent alarm.
They scrambled through the lobby and into Reynolds’s interior office. Ben saw Polly perched in her usual spot in the corner. “Hello, Polly.”
Polly did not respond. She looked even worse than she had on Ben’s last visit. Her eyes were hazy; her plumage had faded. The pile of plucked feathers on the bottom of the cage had grown taller.
Ben pointed to the large credenza. “The documents are in there.”
Christina scrutinized the lock. “Piece of cake. I used to pick locks like this regularly at Raven, Tucker & Tubb. So I could read my quarterly evaluations.”