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Claire stood to let me slide in next to Yuki, saying, “We’re drinking something called ‘Corpse Reviver Number Five.’ Should be our signature Club cocktail.”
“What’s in that potion, if I may ask?”
Cindy said, “It’s the reverse of embalming fluid,” and lifted her glass to show me her sunny-looking drink. Like me, Cindy is blond, but unlike me, she’s got corkscrew curls and adorable, slightly overlapping front teeth, and she’s a graceful size six.
“The key ingredient is tequila,” she said. “We’ve got Yuki on pass-out alert. Brady’s going to pick her up when we call.”
Yuki grinned and said, “Thanks for having faith in me.”
We said, “You’re welcome,” in unison. It was no secret that Yuki was an easy drunk with a weakness for margaritas, and this Corpse Reviver was close enough to her favorite drink.
I ordered what they were having, and when my drink arrived, we
toasted the bride-to-be in turn. We’d given her a lot of crap over the years for her go-nowhere relationships. One of her former frogs had actually set out to kill her.
“To Yuki, with thanks for putting an end to the frog parade.”
“I’ll drink to that,” she said.
“To you and Brady,” said Cindy. “Perfect together.”
“I’ll drink to that, too,” said Yuki, already slurring softly. She guzzled her drink down to the bottom of the glass.
Claire said, “Darlin’, here’s to the best sex, best friends, and best times, for the whole of your lives.”
“Hear, hear,” I said.
We clinked glasses of lemony-pineapple-y tequila, and Yuki put down her empty glass and dipped her head. I saw a couple of tears gathering in her eyelashes. I put an arm around her shoulder.
“Hey. Don’t cry. What’s wrong, for Pete’s sake?”
“Happy tears,” she said. “How much I love the three of you. And I miss my daffy mom.”
“She would’ve loved this,” Claire said. “You getting married to that big, brave, blondy-haired man.”
Yuki smiled. She cocked her head and in her mother’s voice she said, “‘Yuki-eh, be good wife. Cook what he likes. Say yes alla time. Keep yourself up.’”
We all laughed. And then asked Yuki a hundred questions, which she answered in full—about the wedding plans and the honeymoon, and she told us that she and Brady were going to live in her apartment, which had been her mother’s, once they came home from their cruise.
Claire grabbed the check and Cindy leaned toward me and said, “I may be too sloshed to drive.”
“Then I’m your designated driver,” I told her.
Once Cindy was strapped into my passenger seat, I buzzed down the windows and fired up my trustworthy Explorer. As I drove, I told her about the belly bombs—off the record. And when I finished with that, I told her about the Mackie Morales sighting in Wisconsin.
Cindy sighed, then said, “She was bound to turn up sometime, but I guess I thought maybe she’d stayed off the FBI’s radar by crossing the border.”
I knew Cindy was thinking about Mackie and Richie.
I was thinking about Mackie, too. The last time I saw her, she was bloodied from the crash that killed Randy and narrowly missed killing their baby. I had seen Richie getting into the ambulance with Mackie cuffed to the stretcher. And that was the last of Mackie until Brady’s news of her today.
Mackie shouldn’t have escaped. It was a crime that she was on her own two feet with nothing to stop her from killing again.
I was just about to go on a rant about Morales being a textbook psycho when the phone in my pocket rang with Joe’s ringtone.
I filled my husband in on my location and ETA and by the time we hung up, I was parking in front of Cindy’s apartment, the place where she and Richie had lived together.
I wanted to tell Cindy again that she needed to move into a new apartment, start fresh where she wouldn’t see Rich in every room, but before I could open my mouth, Cindy leaned over, gave me a big hug, and said, “Don’t worry about me, Linds.”
