you, I forget that other women exist.”
His sweet lie earns him a kiss.
We linger together blissfully lip-locked until Jean-Pierre shouts, “Madame! Monsieur! Pinky Ring—he is standing on the dock!”
The little cretin is not alone. The mystery woman is hustling Gigi into a waiting limousine.
When Jean-Pierre sees Gigi, he puts the boat in top gear.
Instinctively, Pinky Ring looks up. He frowns when he sees Jack. Does he recognize him? Suddenly he draws a gun and fires—
Jack and I duck.
The bullet hits Jean-Pierre.
Our boat shoots beyond the dock.
I crouch down beside Jean-Pierre. The wound is on his shoulder. Quickly, I grab a towel to staunch the blood streaming from it.
In the meantime, Jack grabs the wheel and flips us back on course.
By the time we reach the dock, the limo is gone. Jack and I carry Jean-Pierre’s unconscious body onto the dock.
Duclos and his partner are the first officers to answer our emergency call. Recognizing Jean-Pierre, Duclos exclaims, “Ah! You see? As I said, he killed the girl. But because he cannot live with his guilt, he shoots himself too.”
I slap his face before Jack can stop me.
The only thing that keeps me from jail is the arrival of Interpol on Salem’s helicopter pad.
We insist that the pilot first take Jean-Pierre to the nearest emergency hospital.
As we fly off, I look down at the Divide and Conquer . The bow is now the only thing above the water line.
It is a fitting crypt for Salem.
Chapter 4
Family Plot
The family that plays together stays together.
But they shouldn’t die together. Someone should be left to bury the bodies, right?
Yet another reason to have secured a family plot before any unfortunate moments arise. When doing so, here’s what to look for:
First, remember: those who die first get the choicest plot in the family lot. But there are times when it doesn’t pay to be first. (Yes, this is one of them.)
Next, make sure it’s on high ground. Why? Simple! You don’t want a heavy rainstorm to send your dearly departed loved ones floating downstream—unless you’re worried that a court order to exhume one of their bodies will provide evidence needed to put you away for life.
Also, no matter how rotten one or more of your relatives had been in life, it’s very poor form to request that they be placed in one mass grave.
And, finally, don’t be stingy about the casket. Remember: the stronger it is, the less likely it’ll leak any unwelcome secrets.
Cherry pie is a normal treat for the typical American family. Ergo, I, the mother of the Craig family, am making a cherry pie.
It doesn’t matter that it is three in the morning, or that the rest of the household is sound asleep.
In fact, I prefer it. This way, I can focus with precision on the task at hand instead of the countless other events that vie for a mother’s attention, often beckoning her to acknowledge, reward, and reciprocate as her pie goes up in flames.
This early in the morning, I won’t be tempted to stop rolling out pie dough in order to match Trisha’s constant petting with a flurry of kisses.
In the still of the night, I won’t be so fascinated by Jeff’s nonstop verbal replay of his latest baseball pitching victory that I forget to add almond extract to the mixture of sweet and sour pitted cherries already tossed with sugar, vanilla, lemon juice, and a little cornstarch.
At the break of dawn, I’ll find it easier to crisscross strips of dough over my pie’s filling if I don’t have to resist the urge to laugh at Mary and Evan’s flirtatious banter.
And I’d certainly miss the oven timer if I let Jack have his way with me in bed—
Admittedly, it’s not easy choosing between great sex and great pie.
This time, the latter comes first. The former is my just desserts.
As it turns out, I’ve missed the former anyway, having fallen dead asleep just after putting the pie in the oven.
Sunlight streaming through the
His sweet lie earns him a kiss.
We linger together blissfully lip-locked until Jean-Pierre shouts, “Madame! Monsieur! Pinky Ring—he is standing on the dock!”
The little cretin is not alone. The mystery woman is hustling Gigi into a waiting limousine.
When Jean-Pierre sees Gigi, he puts the boat in top gear.
Instinctively, Pinky Ring looks up. He frowns when he sees Jack. Does he recognize him? Suddenly he draws a gun and fires—
Jack and I duck.
The bullet hits Jean-Pierre.
Our boat shoots beyond the dock.
I crouch down beside Jean-Pierre. The wound is on his shoulder. Quickly, I grab a towel to staunch the blood streaming from it.
In the meantime, Jack grabs the wheel and flips us back on course.
By the time we reach the dock, the limo is gone. Jack and I carry Jean-Pierre’s unconscious body onto the dock.
Duclos and his partner are the first officers to answer our emergency call. Recognizing Jean-Pierre, Duclos exclaims, “Ah! You see? As I said, he killed the girl. But because he cannot live with his guilt, he shoots himself too.”
I slap his face before Jack can stop me.
The only thing that keeps me from jail is the arrival of Interpol on Salem’s helicopter pad.
We insist that the pilot first take Jean-Pierre to the nearest emergency hospital.
As we fly off, I look down at the Divide and Conquer . The bow is now the only thing above the water line.
It is a fitting crypt for Salem.
Chapter 4
Family Plot
The family that plays together stays together.
But they shouldn’t die together. Someone should be left to bury the bodies, right?
Yet another reason to have secured a family plot before any unfortunate moments arise. When doing so, here’s what to look for:
First, remember: those who die first get the choicest plot in the family lot. But there are times when it doesn’t pay to be first. (Yes, this is one of them.)
Next, make sure it’s on high ground. Why? Simple! You don’t want a heavy rainstorm to send your dearly departed loved ones floating downstream—unless you’re worried that a court order to exhume one of their bodies will provide evidence needed to put you away for life.
Also, no matter how rotten one or more of your relatives had been in life, it’s very poor form to request that they be placed in one mass grave.
And, finally, don’t be stingy about the casket. Remember: the stronger it is, the less likely it’ll leak any unwelcome secrets.
Cherry pie is a normal treat for the typical American family. Ergo, I, the mother of the Craig family, am making a cherry pie.
It doesn’t matter that it is three in the morning, or that the rest of the household is sound asleep.
In fact, I prefer it. This way, I can focus with precision on the task at hand instead of the countless other events that vie for a mother’s attention, often beckoning her to acknowledge, reward, and reciprocate as her pie goes up in flames.
This early in the morning, I won’t be tempted to stop rolling out pie dough in order to match Trisha’s constant petting with a flurry of kisses.
In the still of the night, I won’t be so fascinated by Jeff’s nonstop verbal replay of his latest baseball pitching victory that I forget to add almond extract to the mixture of sweet and sour pitted cherries already tossed with sugar, vanilla, lemon juice, and a little cornstarch.
At the break of dawn, I’ll find it easier to crisscross strips of dough over my pie’s filling if I don’t have to resist the urge to laugh at Mary and Evan’s flirtatious banter.
And I’d certainly miss the oven timer if I let Jack have his way with me in bed—
Admittedly, it’s not easy choosing between great sex and great pie.
This time, the latter comes first. The former is my just desserts.
As it turns out, I’ve missed the former anyway, having fallen dead asleep just after putting the pie in the oven.
Sunlight streaming through the
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