Whiskey Sour (24 page)

Harrison, sensing something was seriously screwed, looked from Morrow to me, waiting for the dam to break. “You’re a professional,” Harrison said. “You’re a genius at undercover work—well, sorta.”

“This,” I said and shook the file, “is not undercover.
This
would require a reincarnation.”

“Now, Redding,” Morrow began.

“She’s a librarian,” I interrupted. “The last thing I read was an article on making a silencer out of a Q-tip, unless you count autopsy reports.”

“You’re going to inventory a house, not run a library.” Morrow pointed out. “No one’s likely to ask you for reading recommendations.”

“She knits.”

“So you’ll learn, just in case. It wouldn’t hurt you to have a hobby besides racking up bodies.”

Harrison shook his head. “I don’t know, sir. I’ve seen those knitting needles. Do you really think you should turn Redding loose on an unsuspecting population and give her a weapon? Remember that incident in Egypt with the #No. 2 pencil?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I snapped. “That was a Pentel, not a #No. 2.”

Morrow cleared his throat. “I’m sure Redding will find a way to contain herself.”

I tossed the folder back across the table. “She was a beauty queen!”

“Holy shit.” Harrison dissolved into a fit of laughter. “No way is Redding pulling that one off. Look at her. Her hair’s shorter than mine.”

“My hair is convenient for my job,” I said, running a hand over inch-long, blond locks that had been trapped under a hot wig the day before, “and besides, I thought short hair was fashionable.”

“Short, yes,” Harrison said, “but you’re sporting the Britney Spears Nervous Breakdown style.
Not
a hit among men or the beauty pageant circuit.”

  I threw up my hands. “This…this
person
has single-handedly set the women’s movement back ten years. Knitting? Librarian? Beauty queen? Please tell me I can kill her next.”

Morrow rose from the booth and glared down at me. “That will be enough. My niece is a lovely woman. And until further notice, you will become that lovely woman, or I will shoot you myself.”

“You could try,” I mumbled.

“What?”

I bit the inside of my lip and clenched my hands. “No problem.”

“Good. Your afternoon is booked. You’re getting acrylic nails, a pedicure, hair extensions, and learning how to apply makeup and wear high heels without killing someone.”  He gave me a broad smile then walked out the door. 

Harrison gave me a sideways glance and inched away from me in the booth. His hand hovered over his weapon as he made a break for the door behind Morrow.

Fake hair? Fake nails? Someone touching my feet? Oh, God, they were going to paint my toenails pink, weren’t they?

I groaned and placed my head on the table, covering it with my arms. This was going to be even harder than the time I killed that drug lord with a Tic Tac.

And not nearly as satisfying.