“I’ll just grab that eye cream for you . . .”
Cass stood in the doorway of Lucy’s room and watched her cousin open a satchel.
“What the hell do you have in there?” Cass laughed. “You clean off the department store cosmetic counters? What is all that stuff?”
“Oh, different products for different things. Vitamin C day cream, it has an SPF of 25. Vitamin E night cream. Makeup. Shampoos. You know.”
Cass, who used one all-purpose face cream—when she thought of it, which wasn’t often—and who had used the same brand of shampoo since she was a teenager, shook her head and took the small jar Lucy held out for her.
“Here, come in the bathroom and I’ll put it on for you.”
“Lucy, I can handle putting creamy stuff under my eyes. I’m assuming that’s where it goes.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Lucy turned on the light in the small bathroom, which was barely big enough for both women. “Give me that jar.”
Cass rolled her eyes while Lucy dabbed the cool white cream onto her skin.
“See, you don’t want to rub it in, you just want to smooth it on a little.”
“Right. Thanks. I’m going to bed now.”
“Cassie, you ever think we were maybe switched at birth?” Lucy grabbed her cousin by the arm and pointed to the mirror that hung above the sink. “You look so much like my mother, and I look so much like yours. You have the light hair, I have the dark.”
“Well, our mothers were sisters, Luce. We do share lots of the same genes.” Cass stared into the mirror. She and Lucy did share a strong resemblance. “But I never realized how much you look like my mom. And how much like Aunt Kimmie I look, now that you mention it. Of course, since we are four months apart, it would have been hard to switch us in the hospital, you know?”
“Seems like the resemblance grows stronger as we get older,” Lucy noted. “Not such a bad thing, though, right? They were both knockouts.”
“They sure were. Last time I saw your mother, she still looked fabulous. I can only dream of looking that good when I’m her age.”
“She takes good care of herself, though I think she gets too much of that Arizona sun. You’ll look great, too, when you’re in your fifties if you take care of your skin. Oh—I have a wonderful little concealer you have to try. It will just wipe away those puffs and lines under your eyes. I’ll just leave it in the bathroom for you to use in the morning.”
“And they say rest is essential, right? Well, I’m all for getting some rest.”
“Okay, then, I’m going to make up my bed and you go right ahead and crawl into yours. I have a feeling you’re going to give that under-eye cream a severe test.”
“Are you sure I can’t give you a hand?”
“Go to bed, Cassie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Cass yawned. “Lucy, I’m glad you’re here. And I’m sorry you’re having problems.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too. And as for my problems, well, a little retail therapy might help. Would you be upset if I did something about that sofa in the living room?”
“Whatever.” Cass laughed and went to bed.
Downstairs, a small notebook in hand, Lucy began to plan the bungalow’s makeover. If she couldn’t be happy, she could at least be busy.
S even
FBI Special Agent Mitchell Peyton only wanted one thing on this Friday afternoon: an uninterrupted ten-minute block of time in which to finish his lunch.
He scowled as the fifth phone call in a row was put through to him.
Okay, I’ll settle for five.
He counted to ten, put down the sandwich he’d been about to bite into, and tried to talk himself into not picking up the receiver.
He wished he could make himself not answer, just once.
“Peyton.”
“Mitch, it’s John Mancini. Got a minute?” As always, the boss wasted little time with small talk.
“Sure.”
“Come on down, then.”
Mitch hung up and rewrapped his sandwich—his favorite, roast beef and provolone with horseradish on a
Cass stood in the doorway of Lucy’s room and watched her cousin open a satchel.
“What the hell do you have in there?” Cass laughed. “You clean off the department store cosmetic counters? What is all that stuff?”
“Oh, different products for different things. Vitamin C day cream, it has an SPF of 25. Vitamin E night cream. Makeup. Shampoos. You know.”
Cass, who used one all-purpose face cream—when she thought of it, which wasn’t often—and who had used the same brand of shampoo since she was a teenager, shook her head and took the small jar Lucy held out for her.
“Here, come in the bathroom and I’ll put it on for you.”
“Lucy, I can handle putting creamy stuff under my eyes. I’m assuming that’s where it goes.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.” Lucy turned on the light in the small bathroom, which was barely big enough for both women. “Give me that jar.”
Cass rolled her eyes while Lucy dabbed the cool white cream onto her skin.
“See, you don’t want to rub it in, you just want to smooth it on a little.”
“Right. Thanks. I’m going to bed now.”
“Cassie, you ever think we were maybe switched at birth?” Lucy grabbed her cousin by the arm and pointed to the mirror that hung above the sink. “You look so much like my mother, and I look so much like yours. You have the light hair, I have the dark.”
“Well, our mothers were sisters, Luce. We do share lots of the same genes.” Cass stared into the mirror. She and Lucy did share a strong resemblance. “But I never realized how much you look like my mom. And how much like Aunt Kimmie I look, now that you mention it. Of course, since we are four months apart, it would have been hard to switch us in the hospital, you know?”
“Seems like the resemblance grows stronger as we get older,” Lucy noted. “Not such a bad thing, though, right? They were both knockouts.”
“They sure were. Last time I saw your mother, she still looked fabulous. I can only dream of looking that good when I’m her age.”
“She takes good care of herself, though I think she gets too much of that Arizona sun. You’ll look great, too, when you’re in your fifties if you take care of your skin. Oh—I have a wonderful little concealer you have to try. It will just wipe away those puffs and lines under your eyes. I’ll just leave it in the bathroom for you to use in the morning.”
“And they say rest is essential, right? Well, I’m all for getting some rest.”
“Okay, then, I’m going to make up my bed and you go right ahead and crawl into yours. I have a feeling you’re going to give that under-eye cream a severe test.”
“Are you sure I can’t give you a hand?”
“Go to bed, Cassie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Cass yawned. “Lucy, I’m glad you’re here. And I’m sorry you’re having problems.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too. And as for my problems, well, a little retail therapy might help. Would you be upset if I did something about that sofa in the living room?”
“Whatever.” Cass laughed and went to bed.
Downstairs, a small notebook in hand, Lucy began to plan the bungalow’s makeover. If she couldn’t be happy, she could at least be busy.
S even
FBI Special Agent Mitchell Peyton only wanted one thing on this Friday afternoon: an uninterrupted ten-minute block of time in which to finish his lunch.
He scowled as the fifth phone call in a row was put through to him.
Okay, I’ll settle for five.
He counted to ten, put down the sandwich he’d been about to bite into, and tried to talk himself into not picking up the receiver.
He wished he could make himself not answer, just once.
“Peyton.”
“Mitch, it’s John Mancini. Got a minute?” As always, the boss wasted little time with small talk.
“Sure.”
“Come on down, then.”
Mitch hung up and rewrapped his sandwich—his favorite, roast beef and provolone with horseradish on a
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