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“Perfect,” Eve said.
“I believe I might’ve missed my calling,” she said as she rose to pour the drinks. “I could’ve been a screen star.”
Eve watched her eyes go fierce, saw her take a long, deep breath before her face turned harmlessly pleasant again.
“Here we go,” Charity murmured and started toward the door.
“Turning up the walk,” Feeney told her.
“Hold positions. We do this by the numbers. No chatter. Wait for my go.”
She watched Charity open the front door, and the quick, charming grin on Darrin Pauley’s face.
“You look real nice today, Mrs. M.”
“Oh, listen to you. Come on in here! Oh, look at those daisies. Aren’t they pretty?”
“I just wanted to thank you for letting me take my lesson today.”
“That’s the sweetest thing.” Charity sniffed at the flowers. “Take a minute to sit down, have some lemonade. I bet the walk made you thirsty.”
“I guess it did.”
“A young man like you’s always hungry. You have a muffin.”
“Thanks.” He shrugged off his backpack, set it beside a chair before removing his cap, his shades.
Charity stood where she was, smiling at him. “How’s your mama doing?”
“Oh, she’s fine. I wish she didn’t work so hard. Wish I could do more for her.”
“I bet you’re doing more than she’d ever think to ask,” Charity said, and Eve hoped she was the only one who heard the underlying ice in the tone. “And won’t she be surprised when you play for her? I don’t know another boy your age who’d go to so much trouble to please his mama.”
“I owe her everything. I bet your family feels the same about you. Especially your kids. Are you sure you’re going to be all right here on your own? Alone until Sunday, didn’t you say?”
“Oh, I’ll be fine, and happy to have the place to myself until Deke and the boys get back Sunday. Now you have a muffin while I go put these pretty daisies in water. I won’t be a minute.”
“Okay.”
Charity strolled out of the room, didn’t break stride even when she sent one fiercely satisfied glance in Eve’s direction.
As her footsteps echoed away, Darrin took a small vial out of his pocket, tipped the contents into her glass.
“Go. All positions, go.”
Weapon drawn, Eve rushed the room only seconds before a half-dozen cops did the same.
“Hello, Darrin,” Eve said. She smiled as he stared at her. “Hands behind your head. Now. On your knees.”
“What’s this about?” He obeyed, but turned his head side-to-side, with the perfect mix of fear and confusion on his face. “My-my name’s Denny, Denny Plimpton. I have identification.”
“I bet you do. Darrin Pauley, aka Denny Plimpton, among others, you’re under arrest for murder, two counts.” Eve gripped his wrist, yanked his arm behind his back.
She looked up and into MacMasters’s eyes. “Captain, would you read this son of a bitch his rights?”
“I . . .” MacMasters cleared the rust from his voice. He looked down at the weapon in his hand, then slowly holstered it. “You have the right to remain silent,” he began as she secured Darrin’s wrists in restraints.
“Thought you were playing her, didn’t you, Darrin?” Eve hauled him to his feet. “Playing an old woman. But she played you. She played you like a piano. This time? You’re the mark.”
