Come and Find Me A Novel of Suspense - By Hallie Ephron Page 0,2
she carried an incongruous, corporate-looking computer laptop case.
Diana heard the Klaxon going off again. Intruder alert, indeed. Diana felt a twinge in a spot behind her right eyeball, a headache starting to bloom.
Ashley’s denim skirt ended a few inches below her panty line, which, in turn, was a few inches below the ends of her long blond hair. Her western-style shirt clung to her considerable anatomy. She’d gotten breasts from Grandma Highsmith. Once upon a time, everyone said Diana had inherited Grandma H’s sheer nerve, verve, and stubbornness.
“Well, look at you! You’re out!” Ashley said. She set down her computer case on the front steps and tossed back her tresses like she was auditioning for a L’Oréal commercial. She gave Diana a juicy smack on the cheek.
“Ick,” Diana said. She hated to admit it, having Ashley there calmed her jitters. But it didn’t keep the ache in her head from starting to throb.
Wally’s gaze shifted back and forth from Diana to Ashley. “I’m guessing here, but this isn’t Nadia.”
Ashley smiled at him and winked. “You think?”
“Behave yourself,” Diana said.
“You sure do sound alike,” Wally said. His speculative glance wandered from Ashley to Diana and back again. “And except for the hair and—” His gaze drifted down a notch or two.
“The attitude,” Diana said. “Not to mention the accessories.”
“Sisters?” Wally asked.
“Got it in one,” Diana said. Inside, the phone rang. In seconds the meeting reminder would sound again too. “Thanks.” In a single move, she pushed the clipboard back at Wally and took the grocery bag from Ashley. “I gotta go.”
Ashley appraised Wally, narrowing one eye. She rummaged in her purse and came up with a sleek, brushed-steel business-card holder. Opening it, she offered him a card. Wally took the card with his teeth and transferred the package into her arms. Then he reached two fingers into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a slip of paper, scrawled on it, and handed it to Ashley. She tucked it into her purse.
“So, are you in or out?” Diana asked Ashley. With her free hand she picked up Ashley’s computer case.
“Well, duh. In.” Ashley stepped inside and pushed the door shut. She glanced at the label on the package and shot Diana a sharp look. “So who’s this Nadia Varata?”
Chapter Two
“Nadia,” Diana said, fastening the security bar and door locks, “is me.”
Ashley registered that with barely a blink. “What’s in here?” She sniffed at the package, turned it over, and examined the label.
“It’s my stuff. Something I ordered.” Diana set Ashley’s laptop under the coatrack.
Ashley shook the package. “What stuff? A trampoline?”
Another comedian. “What’s this?” Diana peered into the grocery bag. “Prison rations?”
Ashley pointed to the tip of her nose. On the nose! Like when they used to play charades.
“You shouldn’t have,” Diana said as she carried the bag into the kitchen. It was sweet of Ashley to keep bringing her groceries. But Diana did shop for her own food, even if that shopping was online. She put away eggs, sliced American cheese, whole-wheat bread, and a bag of Granny Smith apples. At the bottom was a pint of rum raisin ice cream, Diana’s favorite.
What had started as a twinge in her head was gaining strength and turning nasty. She shook out a couple of aspirin from an oversize container on the kitchen counter and knocked them back with a cupped hand of water from the tap.
When she returned to the living room, Ashley had already pried open one edge of the box.
“It’s clothes, you twit. What else would it be?” Diana took the package from her. “And did I say you could open it?”
“Mail order?” Ashley made a face, like the concept stank.
“What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were in L.A.”
“I finished early and got my flight moved up. Took the red-eye. They don’t expect me at work until Monday, so I thought I’d come bother you.”
“Well, you’re succeeding.” Diana laughed. “You sure don’t look like you took the red-eye.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. Business-class seats recline and I slept all the way. Thank God for Ambien. Though my throat’s scratchy. And my joints”—she massaged her shoulder and winced—“are really sore. The person behind me coughed and sneezed the whole way. I hope I’m not coming down with swine flu. Or SARS.”
“Or the phage,” Diana said.
That perked Ashley up. “What’s that?”
“A virus. One of the early symptoms is joint pain.”
“Really?”
“Excruciating. Then it attacks your bones and disrupts your genetic code.”