Cross Roads by Fern Michaels Page B

bar could be hookers. I say could be, I’m no authority. The businesswoman in the blue suit has been on her laptop and hasn’t looked up once. I think we’re okay so far,” Annie said.
    â€œWhat do we hope to do in here?” Myra asked.
    â€œNot much but drink. I want to see if anyone followed us. I know the two of you think I’m being paranoid, and I want to prove to you that I am not. Paranoid, that is. Unless someone planted a GPS tracker on your car while you were at the Post or when it was parked in the lot at the park, we should be in the clear. Now, if someone shows up who we think is questionable, we can be assured there is a GPS on the car,” Maggie said, as she kept her eyes fixed on the door leading into the Blue Duck.
    â€œWhat is our plan if someone does show up?” Annie asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Do we…ah…take him out? What?”
    Maggie sucked the last of her Slamming Sally and held it up so the waitress could see she wanted a refill. “We play it by ear. We should ask for some munchies, peanuts, or some trail mix. I think better when I’m eating.” Her drink arrived, and, without missing a beat, she continued to talk and suck through her straw at the same time.
    Myra’s stubbornness rose to the fore again when she said, “I’m sorry, girls, but I am just not getting any of this. It’s been so long since our pardons, and so much time has passed, that I’m having trouble believing any kind of…tomfoolery is afoot.”
    Annie’s eyebrows shot upward as her eyes widened. “Did you really say tomfoolery is afoot? My God, Myra, do you realize how that dates you? That sounds like everyone is going to go dancing in the park in their undies. You need to get with the program here and try to look alive and stop fingering those damn pearls. And who might that person be who just entered our domain here?”
    Maggie raised her eyes from her drink to look at the man who walked over to the bar and ordered a beer. “Harmless. Not what we are looking for,” she said around the straw that was still clutched between her teeth.
    â€œWhat are we looking for, exactly?” Myra whispered.
    â€œYou’ll know him or her when you see them. If you don’t spot them, then you do not belong in this business,” Maggie said, her gaze going to the door, where a tall man was standing. He removed his aviator glasses, rolled his neck like he was a tired businessman in want of something cool to drink.
    â€œBingo!” Annie chortled. “Mr. Cool himself. He’s going to belly up to the bar and order a frosty one. Right, Maggie?”
    â€œI knew that,” Myra said, just as Maggie nodded in agreement.
    Seven minutes later, a pert redhead in a dove gray pantsuit ambled in, stopped, looked around, then headed for the bar, where she sat down, two stools away from the guy with the aviator glasses.
    â€œPart of the team,” Myra said, before anyone could say anything. Maggie nodded again as she slurped the last of her drink. She held her glass aloft for the waitress to see that she needed another refill.
    â€œStart jabbering, ladies. Babies are always a good topic of conversation. I have pictures of Little Jack I don’t think you’ve seen. I think Lizzie has her camera on twenty-four seven, so she doesn’t miss a thing. Little Jack is a cutie for sure.” Maggie’s voice dropped several octaves. “All we need is one more, and my suspicions become fact. The next one will be so ordinary most people wouldn’t give him or her a second thought.” Maggie’s drink arrived as Myra and Annie managed to coo and giggle over the pictures of Little Jack, which wasn’t all that hard to do even though they, too, were watching the doorway out of the corners of their eyes.
    Seventeen minutes later, Maggie’s fourth Slamming Sally arrived just as Myra and Annie finished