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I can hear the sharp stilettos clicking against the concrete steps from my spot in the crying room overlooking the portico and front lawn; watch intently for our guest of honor to finally make her way to the door, where she’ll then find her seat amongst the other visitors, my mouth bending into a pleased smile.
Everything has been going according to plan.
Excellent.
I let the curtain fall back into place, humming happily to myself as I descend the limestone stairs, mentally counting the cash I’ll make for this side-hustle all the way back to the nave.
This is shaping up to be a wonderful day, indeed.
Chapter One
MIRIAM
“…and as we gather to pay respects to Grandfather, we cannot do so without remembering his witty sense of humor and how he loved and doted on his grandchildren.”
Palmer Leland Winchester Darling the fourth plucks at the periwinkle pocket square, removing it from his suit coat and dramatically dabs at one eye, then the other.
Sniffs sorrowfully before folding the cotton tissue neatly, tucking it back inside his pocket.
Resuming his speech from the pulpit of the church, Our Holy Immaculate Lady of God, I’m almost certain Palmer’s family is not only not a member of the congregation but probably haven’t attended a service of any kind in decades, if my presence here is any indication of Palmers ethics.
But whatever.
This family’s moral compass is not my problem.
On the pulpit, Palmer continues. “I recall the time Grandfather bought me a polo pony for my birthday even after my father told him I couldn’t have one—well, a new one, anyway, cuz I already had two.”
He chuckles into the microphone, regaling the tale, amused at his own quip.
New polo pony, ha!
What a lark!
When the crowd chuckles, too—as if polo ponies are gafaw gafaw giggle giggle humorous—I roll my eyes and stifle a yawn, reading from the prepared note cards in my hands to keep Palmer’s momentum moving forward.
“…How furious were my parents when Grandfather had Citation—that was my pony—delivered to the house only a few days later, scattering all over the lawn the day of my party?” More chortling bemusement. “But no one was about to tell Palmer Darling the Second what to do.”
Wow. What a dick move by Grandpa.
The crowd chuckles again.
I barely muster the enthusiasm to recite the words (I myself have written) with a straight face, glancing down at the notecards from time to time, speaking softly into the tiny mouthpiece hidden in the fussy collar of my black dress shirt.
The dress shirt isn’t my usual style, but I had to blend in with these folks; the dress is also a great disguise for the technology secreted in my neckline—a small black wire that doesn’t quite match my dark brown hair, but close enough.
In my ear is an ear piece, one that matches Palmer’s.
I press my finger against it as I speak the following instructions. “Now when you remove the tissue from your pants pocket, carefully dab it below your nose,” I tell him, watching when he reaches for the tissue in the pocket of his slacks like he’s been told, wiping below his nose.
It takes several moments, but then…
…tears begin forming in his dry eyes.
He goes to dab at them with the— “Use the pocket square from your suit coat to dry your eyes! Do not use the cotton tissue again.” I hiss quietly, holding the ear piece with one hand and throw the elderly man walking past me a peace sign and a toothy grin.
A peace sign, Miriam?
Seriously?
