Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,35

elevator.

"What'd you think of that climb?" Jackie asked them, as I took the camera. "A real ball-buster, wasn't it?"

Oh, yeah. "Ball-buster" was a great term to use in front of women whose father had been a Lutheran minister. I angled Jackie a disapproving look.

Britha tidied the seams on Barbro's bodysuit and picked off a speck of lint. "I thought we'd never make it to the top," she confessed. "Barbro was real fleet-footed, but I'm afraid I slowed us down something fierce. We could have been up here way sooner if I hadn't had to stop halfway up."

Jackie splayed her hand against her chest. "I'm so glad to hear you say that. I was beginning to think it was just me." She slanted a smug look back at me. "Wasn't it awful? The shortness of breath? The burning calves? The feeling that your heart is gonna burst out of your chest any moment?"

"I stopped to tie my shoe." She heaved a sigh. "But you're right. It was awful. It must have thrown us off schedule by a good half minute." She balled her hands into anemic fists and gave them a disheartened look. "My fingers aren't as limber as they used to be, are they, Barbro? If I'd been smart, I would have bought the shoes with the Velcro closures."

"Do I have to do anything besides point and shoot?" I called out to Britha as I peeked through the lens of her superslick digital camera.

"That's all there is to it, dear. Oops. Just a minute." She reached up to remove her remaining earring. "Don't want to be lopsided."

Seeing this, Barbro reached up and with a satisfied smile, removed hers, too. Aw, that was so sweet! They didn't want to be seen dressed any differently than was absolutely necessary. Boy, twins really had some major bonding going on. "Okay," I instructed. "Big smiles." CLICK. "Good one." Now let me zoom in for a closeup." A strong gust of wind blew their hair back from their faces like little white haloes. CLICK.

"Thank you, Emily." As Britha retrieved her camera and looped the strap back over her head, the bottom of Barbro's plastic sack gave way, dumping the contents all over the gallery floor. Toothbrushes. Toothpowder. Bar soap. Dental floss. Sewing kit. Band-Aids. Rubbing alcohol. Skin cream. A jar of what looked like petroleum jelly. Aha! They must be getting ready to try out the shower.

"Replenishing all your supplies, I see." I scrambled to collect their articles.

"There's a very nice drugstore by the train station," Britha informed us. "It has everything, except sturdy sacks."

I stuffed all the items into a gallon-size Ziploc bag I'd tucked away in my shoulder bag for emergencies, then handed the bag to Barbro. "That should hold until you get back to the hotel."

"You've thought of everything," Britha complimented me. "You take good care of us, Emily, dear. Thank you again. We're going to take a few more pictures from up here, then we're going shopping. We're anxious to see how the prices in the open-air market compare with those at Wal-Mart."

"Do you need any help back down the stairs?" I inquired.

Barbro smiled sweetly. "You're nice to ask, but the advice I'd lend, is leave us here and help your friend."

Jackie's mouth twitched with annoyance as we circled back to the stairs. "What is it with that woman? Why does she talk like that?"

"Occupational hazard." I stopped to shoot a few more pictures. "She writes sentiments for greeting cards. I think she's been doing it for so many years that her brain is permanently geared that way."

"Well, she should get it un geared because it's really irritating." She peeked back toward where we left them. "They're kind of cute though, aren't they? Are they really as identical as they look?"

"Yup." I swung around and captured Jackie in the lens of my camera. "All except for one...elusive...characteristic."

"And what's that?" she asked, striking a pose for me.

"They won't tell anyone. Family secret. Smile." CLICK.

Chapter 6

I still think you should have sprung for the leather coat," Jackie admonished four hours later, as we seated ourselves at the last open table in a crowded outdoor ristorante. "Five million lire was a steal."

We were in a triangle of space between ancient buildings that hunched claustrophobically together, all crooked angles and shuttered windows. Around us, leafy bushes in terra-cotta planters fenced us off from the intrusion of foot traffic. Above us, an umbrella the size of a parachute shielded us from the sun. In nearby alleys,