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I had parked out of sight of The Peanut, but I still checked before I got into my truck. When I was sure he wasn’t following me, I called Sergeant Finch. “I think it’s working.”“We’re in place.” In the Marriott lobby.I looked in my rearview. Smiled. Bear was in his souped-up Chrysler, he had my back. I hadn’t asked him to, but it didn’t surprise me.I did have Birdy Cummings, my grandmotherly freelancer, tracking Darrel Clemson. She was parked near his blue Mustang and would call me when he left. And would let me know if he changed his mind and didn’t head for the Marriott. Unlikely, with pussy on offer.I wasn’t the slightest bit worried that he’d spot Birdy. People in their 20s don’t really see the elderly. And she drove a tan Camry, about as nondescript as you can get.My main reason for engaging Birdy was in case Clemson did change his plans. I didn’t want to tie up Sergeant Finch and her team a minute longer than necessary. She was doing me a mega favor. But doing the world a favor. "More lemon bars anyone?" Grace asked, offering the plate around.Walt took another but both Marcia and Claire declined. Claire, Marcianoticed, had stopped eating her first one right after Grace proudlyannounced that Marcia had made them."Aren't they delicious?"Marcia cringed. Fishing for compliments, Grace meant well, hoping tobreak the ice. But she knew that Claire would rather starve to deaththan take the bait. Marcia quickly tried to change the subject--in vain.Walt, barely having finished lemon bar number two, took a third,declaring that he just couldn't get enough of the things they were so"goddamn delicious." She's the best baker in the world," he announced, beaming. "Besteverything in the world," he added, giving her a knowing wink and herthigh a suggestive squeeze.Out of the corner of her eye, Marcia saw Claire stiffen. Then stiffenfurther. She had started the evening already stiff.Once again, Marcia couldn't help feeling a little sorry for her. It couldn't be easy for her to.
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