Two of a Kind (Fool's Gold #11)(78)

Gladys pushed her friend aside. “We want to talk to you. It won’t take long.”

Good manners overcame common sense. Gideon stepped back and let them in.

“How can I help you?” he asked as they prowled the living room.

Gladys turned to him first. “What? Oh, why we’re here.” She smiled. “We want you to sponsor our bowling team. We have the shirts all picked out. We’ve chosen the colors and everything. Show him.”

Eddie plopped down on the sofa and pulled a picture out of her large handbag. He inched forward and took it, then stepped back out of range.

“Okay,” he said slowly, studying the fuchsia-colored bowling shirts. They were a new level of ugly.

“You can see why we want them,” Gladys said.

“Not really.”

Eddie ignored him. “Our names get embroidered on the front and the radio station logo goes on the back. That’s advertising for you, which is why you’ll want to pay for the shirts. Lots of people come to the bowling alley. They’ll see the call letters and want to listen.” She paused as if she thought he needed time for the concept to sink in.

He’d been in more dire situations before and understood the need to have a plan of action. However, none of his military training had prepared him to face two old ladies on a mission.

“I get a pretty decent audience share right now,” he said.

Gladys put her hand on her chest and actually seemed to go pale. “You’re telling us no?”

Eddie’s mouth quivered. “I have to sit down,” she said, then shook her head. “Oh, I am sitting. It’s just the trembling gets so bad.” She looked at Gideon, then lowered her voice. “It’s my condition.”

Gladys sat next to her and squeezed her hand. “Honey, you know it upsets you when you talk about it.”

Eddie nodded. “I know. It’s just I really thought with the new shirts and all we had a chance at winning. Just one last time before...” She swallowed. “You know.”

Death, he thought grimly. She meant death. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being played, but he also wasn’t willing to take the chance.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll buy the damn shirts. Order them and send me the bill.”

Eddie beamed. “Do you want to approve the design?”

“No,” he told her, then remembered who he was dealing with. “Yes. I want to see what you’re putting on the shirts before I pay for them.”

“No problem.”

Eddie stood with amazing agility for one so close to her final chapter. Gladys bounced up next to her.

“Thanks so much,” Gladys said, leading the way to the front door. “We appreciate it.”

They walked to the front door and let themselves out. Halfway down the driveway, they turned to each other and did a high five. Octogenarian hands slapped loudly in the quiet of the morning.

He’d been had. Suckered by two old ladies, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. As they drove away, he figured he’d gotten off easy. No doubt they would go perform their show in front of someone else to get another sucker to spring for new bowling balls.

He started to go inside, then saw a mail truck pulling into the driveway. A young woman with a ponytail got out.

“Mr. Boylan?”

“Yes.”

“I have a certified letter I need you to sign for.”

“Sure.”

He scrawled his name, then took the slim letter.

“Have a nice day,” she called as she got into her small truck.

He nodded.

The return address was from a medical lab outside Sacramento. There was only one reason he would be getting correspondence from a lab this way. Inside was the information on Carter.

He went into the house and stood by the front door. For a second he thought about not opening the envelope. He could cheerfully go a long time without knowing. Except he already knew. In his gut and maybe even his heart. There were plenty of clues and lots of physical evidence. The report would only confirm the information he already had.

Still, he tore off the end and pulled out the single sheet of paper. When he read the report, he went to the study and put it in a drawer. Then he walked away.

* * *

SATURDAY AFTERNOON FELICIA walked into the kitchen, not sure what she wanted to do for dinner. She had lots of ingredients but no real sense of how to put them together. Maybe she could go look on the internet.

But her search for inspiration stalled when she saw several dirty dishes sitting on the counter, along with an open package of bread and a jar of peanut butter. The knife was still sticking out of the jar and half the bread was spread over the counter. Two slices had fallen into the sink.

Gideon was out running errands, so she knew he hadn’t done this, which left only Carter. While he wasn’t perfect—most mornings he tossed his dirty clothes on the bed rather than putting them in the basket she’d provided—he was generally neat and considerate. He’d made his own lunch and snacks before, and he’d never left such a big mess.

A sense of unease washed over her. Something was going on, and she didn’t know what. Even more troubling, if someone had stopped and asked her how she knew there was a problem, she couldn’t begin to tell him or her.

She walked down the hall to Carter’s room. The door was half-open. She knocked as she entered.