Quinn put the car in gear and handed Wendy to her grateful owner. True to his word, Quinn didn’t hurt either of them and was in fact very conversational during the drive to Buckhead. It was not yet noon and traffic was light, and before long, Kathy felt the car stop. She turned her attention away from Wendy and looked out the window.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“We wait.”
Kathy followed Quinn’s gaze to the café across the street, the charming one that offered a view of cozy furniture through the front window—the cozy furniture upon which Brad sat with a young hottie.
Quinn, Kathy, and Wendy settled into their seats for the duration of the lovers’ meal, then watched Brad and Erica stroll hand-in-hand to the nearby hotel. They waited in the car in silence for about an hour. Then Quinn spotted the lovers exiting the hotel. Brad gave Erica one last embrace.
“Can you drive us home now?” Kathy said.
He did. Before getting out of the car, Kathy said, “You know that thing you were telling me about, the whole Opposite George thing? I think this just might work out for you.”
Quinn wondered what Donovan Creed would have said to keep the conversation going. He came up with, “How so?”
“I’m the one with all the money in this relationship, not Brad, but there is a pot full of insurance and a big inheritance coming Brad’s way if something happens to me.”
Quinn knew where this was going.
Kathy continued. “You can keep the fifty thousand dollars from my husband,” she said, “and I’ll add another fifty thousand to it. Do you understand what I’m asking?”
“You want me to kill your husband.”
Kathy laughed. “Heavens no! I’ve got far too much invested in the prick. Plus, I really do love him, and I certainly wouldn’t welcome the close scrutiny the media and police would bring.”
Quinn was wrong. He had no idea where this was going and told her so.
“Don’t you see?” asked Kathy. “I want you to kill Erica.”
Quinn nodded absently. “I know a guy who says we all have at least two people in our lives who we wish had never been born. These two people changed the course of our lives for the worse, and we never got over what they did.”
Kathy said, “Your friend is probably right about that.”
Quinn said, “Apart from Erica, was there anyone else in your life who you wish had never been born?”
“Oh heavens,” said Kathy. “What a horrible question to ask!”
“Just hypothetically.”
“Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead,” she said, “but did you see that media circus about Monica Childers a few weeks ago?”
Quinn nodded. “Did you know her?”
“She was my step-daughter. She made my life a living hell.”
After helping Kathy achieve a peaceful demise, Quinn placed her into a shallow grave in the North Georgia woods, went back to the mall, and waited for Erica to leave her station. The store wasn’t busy, but there were people milling around. Quinn waited until the area around the jewelry counter was vacant. He placed a small package by the cash register and walked out of the store.
Erica finished up in the bathroom, walked back to her station, and checked the area to make sure the fill-in girl hadn’t left any paperwork for her. Satisfied, she turned her attention to the small gift-wrapped package with her name on it. There was a note: “Please accept this with all my love. I’m filing for divorce today. Love, Brad.”
Erica let out a squeal of delight. This was her dream come true, what she’d been working for all these months. Working the jewelry counter at Neiman’s, she was tired of watching other women casually make purchases that eclipsed her annual salary. Her friends chided her for always dating married men. She couldn’t wait to show them the fruits of her labor!
She carefully unwrapped the package, slowly lifted the lid.
And days later, cleanup crews were still finding remnants of her flesh in the strangest places.
CHAPTER 53
I woke up first, so I went into the kitchen and set the oven to four hundred. While it preheated, I filled a blender with milk, flour, eggs, butter, salt, and vanilla and almond extract. I let that churn on high a full minute, found Kathleen’s muffin pan, and sprayed it with nonfat cooking spray. I poured the batter into the muffin slots, popped them in the oven, and set the timer for twenty-seven minutes. Th en I placed some butter on a plate to soften and headed back to Kathleen’s bedroom, where I belonged.
“What was all that racket?” she asked.
“I’m making us popovers for breakfast.”
“You can’t make popovers at home. They always fall before you take them out,” she said.
“Not mine.”
“Only fancy restaurants can make popovers that stay puffed up.”
“Only fancy restaurants and me,” I said.
“If you’re wrong and I’m right, will you take me somewhere fancy for breakfast sometime?”
“Do you have a place in mind?” I said.
“I’d like to have breakfast at Tiffany’s,” she said.
“Actually, I think Tiffany’s is a jewelry store, not a restaurant.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ve never seen the movie. I just always assumed …”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “My popovers won’t fall. We won’t have to eat somewhere fancy.”
“Darn,” she said.
Somebody famous once said that you can kiss your friends and family good-bye and put a lot of miles between you, but you’ll always be with them because you’re not just a part of the world; the world is a part of you.
Or something like that.
The point is, I never missed anyone the way I missed Kathleen this last trip. When I found my way back to her modest duplex with the faded green siding, half attic, and half basement, and she jumped into my arms and wrapped her legs around me and squealed with joy—well, I knew this must be what all the poets make such a fuss about.
“How long do we have before the popovers fall?” she asked.
“Forever, because they never will. I have it down to a science.”
“So what you’re saying, you’re a chef scientist.”
“We all have a specialty,” I said.
“My specialty is math,” she said.
“Math?”
She gave me a sly smile. “That’s right. As in, how many times can one thing … go into another.” She arched an eyebrow seductively.
“Before a cooking timer goes off ?” I asked.
“Hypothetically,” she said.
“I’m not certain, but I’m willing to expend a great deal of effort toward helping you solve that equation.”
And so we did.
The bell interrupted our research, and we agreed to continue the experiment after breakfast. Kathleen took a blanket ff the bed, wrapped it around her, followed me into the kitchen, and watched me take a pan of perfectly formed popovers from the oven. We filled them with softened butter.
“Oh … my … God!” she squealed. “I’ve always wanted a man who could cook, and now I’ve got something even better: a man who can bake!”
We each ate two, and afterward, Kathleen looked as though she wanted to say something.
“What?” I said.
“I want to tell you something, but I don’t want to run you off.”
“You won’t run me off. Unless you’ve got another lab partner.”
She took a deep breath and said, “I want to adopt Addie.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “Really.”
“I love her, Donovan, and she loves me. I’ve always wanted a child of my own, but Ken beat that physical possibility out of me years ago. Anyway, it’s like I’d be choosing her over all the other children in the world, you know? And she needs me.”