Picture Perfect by Fern Michaels Page A

family until Davey’s condition was discovered. After that she’d devoted herself to her pediatric practice.
    Sara threw her arm over her husband’s chest and Andrew nuzzled against her, aware of the fresh scent of her shampoo which lingered in her hair. Trying to set his worries aside, he settled into an uneasy sleep.
    Â 
    Cudge sat beside Elva on the daybed. He was certain he had used the right words to settle her down and make her help him. She’d come up with an idea for disposing of Lenny’s body; though he’d never admit it, it was more than he could have done.
    â€œQuestion is, how do we get him downstairs to the camper?” Cudge touched Elva’s cheek, brushing back a strand of hair. “We can’t just drag him down the stairs and pretend he’s drunk. Not with his face all . . .”
    Elva’s eyes scanned the room and came to rest on the three paper bags that held the laundry. A small bottle of fabric softener and a box of detergent were beside the bags. Frowning, she saw the rusty ironing board with its scorched, dirty gray cover leaning against the wall. She forced her eyes to go to Lenny’s body and then back to the ironing board. “I got an idea, Cudge.”
    â€œYeah? What?” He knew it was going to be something stupid but he’d better hear her out and make her feel important. This wasn’t the time to fight with her and get her screaming loud enough to wake the dead.
    â€œLike you said, we can’t just take him down the stairs and pretend he’s drunk or sick or something. That nosy old Mrs. Fortunati is awake and she already told me she was thinking of calling the cops because of the noise coming from our apartment. That must have been when you were hitting Lenny and—”
    Cudge’s hair almost stood on end; the black look in his eyes stopped Elva’s flow of words. He clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. “What did that old snoop say she heard, Elva?” It was a monumental effort to keep his voice steady.
    â€œNothing. She just said it sounded like you were tearing the place apart.” Elva saw him relax. That wasn’t anything new with the landlady. She was always saying she was going to call the cops, and she even did once because the baby in 4B was sick and cried all night long. “Anyway, I was thinking we could put Lenny on the ironing board, pile the dirty clothes on top of him and pretend we’re going to the laundromat. Then you can put him in the camper and drive him away somewhere.”
    Cudge’s eyes widened. “Sometimes you ain’t so stupid after all. It just might work. Hey, you look like you’re gonna be sick. If you gotta puke, do it in the toilet.”
    â€œI ain’t gonna puke. I just don’t like seeing dead people. It reminds me of . . . They look like chalk, and they don’t move no more. Not ever.”
    The regret in her voice was lost on Cudge who was busy putting the ironing board next to the body to measure it. “He’ll fit. Come on, don’t just sit there, give me a hand.”
    â€œCudge, I . . . I can’t touch him,” Elva cried.
    â€œMove it, Elva!”
    Elva shuffled over to the body and bent down to grasp the legs while Cudge took hold of it under the armpits. Lenny landed with a thump on the rickety board. Elva backed away, her hands going to her mouth to stifle a retch.
    â€œWe’ll tie him on it. I don’t want him rolling off in front of Mrs. Fortunati’s apartment door.”
    â€œI don’t like that Mrs. Fortunati. She’s got little beady eyes that see everything.”
    Cudge ignored Elva and began to heap dirty clothes over Lenny’s body. Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip as he leaned back against the table. “Okay, that was the first step. Now we gotta clean out this place and make tracks. Get your junk together.”
    â€œI got it all in a paper bag. The rest