Grave Surprise by Charlaine Harris Page B

whole hell of a lot for Art to fly over here first class to stay at a great hotel, make a lot of phone calls, and hold one press conference; but we’d known it had been a gamble when we’d called him.
    Our lawyer was downing a huge salad, garlic bread, and veal ravioli, while Tolliver and I were having soup and salad on a smaller scale. I was watching Art chew hunks of bread and trying to remember my CPR lessons. Art was explaining what we should expect.
    â€œYou’ll probably need to produce a record of your travels during the time since you met the Morgensterns,” Art said.
    I glanced at Tolliver and he nodded. We were covered on all that. During the years we’d been traveling, Tolliver and I had learned to keep every single receipt, every single credit card slip, every single piece of paper that crossed our paths. This past year, we’d been especially diligent. We had a cheap accordion file that was always on hand in the back seat of the car, and the laptop; we kept good records. We sent off regular packets to our accountant, Sandy Dierdoff, who was based in St. Louis. She was a broadly curvy blonde in her forties.She’d only raised her eyebrows and given a bark of laughter when we’d explained what we did for a living. She’d seemed to enjoy our unusual lifestyle. In fact, she’d given us more good advice in our meetings with her than Art had ever even thought of sharing. Sandy had already emailed us about making our annual appointment; fall was fast turning into winter.
    I was thinking about Sandy, and by extension our apartment in St. Louis, while I said goodbye to Art. We saw him leave with a mutual feeling of relief. Art was kind of proud of having us as clients, as if we were show business people; but at the same time, he wasn’t at his easiest or most relaxed when he was alone with us.
    After he left, and the staff had removed the lunch things, I asked Tolliver if he thought we could go out for a walk. I still hadn’t forgiven Tolliver his huge error in judgment, but I was willing to put it on the back burner until I’d calmed down. A good walk might restore our sense of companionship.
    Tolliver was shaking his head before the sentence even got out of my mouth. “We ran this morning in the gym,” he reminded me. “I know you don’t want to be cooped up in this hotel, but if we go anywhere, someone’ll spot us and want a statement.”
    I called down to the front desk to ask if there were still reporters waiting outside the hotel. The deskman replied that he couldn’t be sure, but that he suspected some of the people loitering in the coffee shop across the street were members of the press. I hung up.
    â€œCrap,” I said.
    â€œListen, put on your dark glasses and a hat and we’ll go to the movies,” he said. He found the complimentary Commercial Appeal we’d gotten that morning and looked up movie times. I found myself looking at my own picture on the front page of the Metro section. I’d only looked at the front section this morning, on purpose. There I was: thin, dark-headed, with big deep-set eyes and an erect posture, arms wrapped across each other under my breasts. I thought the picture made me look quite a bit more than twenty-four and that made me a little shivery. Tolliver, right beside me in the photo, was taller, darker, and more solid.
    We both looked desperately troubled. We looked like refugees from middle Europe, refugees who’d fled some kind of persecution, leaving behind all they held of value.
    â€œWant to read it?” Tolliver asked, extending the paper. He knew I didn’t like reading the few stories in the press about us, but since I’d been staring at the picture, he offered it to me.
    I put out my own hand in a “stop” gesture.
    He handed me the movie section instead, and I began scanning the ads. We liked space movies and action movies. We liked movies with happy