Two Little Girls in Blue by Mary Higgins Clark Page B

brothers because they both did the grub work for people with money, she thought with contempt.
    â€œHow’s my boy Clint?” Gus asked.
    Gus was born with a loudspeaker on his vocal cords, Angie thought, as people turned to look at them.
    â€œNever better, Gus. Hey, I think the dynamo behind the counter is about ready for you.”
    â€œSure, sure.” Gus unloaded his purchases on the counter and turned back to peer in Angie’s basket. “Baby aspirin. Baby nose drops. Hey, you two got news for me?”
    Angie’s worry about the pharmacist now deepened into outright fear. Lucas was right, she thought. I shouldn’t be shopping for anything for the kids, or at least I shouldn’t be shopping where they know me. “Don’t be silly, Gus,” she snapped. “I’m babysitting for a friend, and the kid’s getting a cold.”
    â€œThat will be $122.18,” the clerk told Gus.
    He opened his wallet and pulled out his credit card. “Cheap at half the price.” He turned back to Angie. “Listen, if you’re stuck babysitting, maybe my old friend Clint would like to meet me for a few beers. I’ll pick him up. That way you don’t have to worry if he ties one on. You know me. I know when to quit gulping the suds. I’ll give him a call.”
    Before she could respond, he had scrawled his signature on the credit slip, grabbed his purchases, and was on his way to the exit. Angie slammed the contents of her cart on the counter. The bill came to forty-three dollars. She knew she didn’t have more than twenty-five dollars in her pocketbook, which meant she had to use her credit card. She hadn’t thought about that when she took the vaporizer off the shelf.
    Lucas had given them cash to buy the crib. “That way there won’t be a paper trail,” he’d said. But there would be a paper trail. She’d had to use the card to pay for the outfits she bought the twins at the children’s outlet store, and she had to use it now.
    It’ll be over soon, she promised herself as she headed for the exit. A guard was standing by the door. She abandoned the cart and picked up the packages.Now all I need is for the alarm to go off, she thought as she passed the guard. That happens when the dopey clerks don’t scan the stuff.
    Two days at the most and we’ll have the money and be out of here, she reminded herself as she crossed the parking lot and got into Clint’s twelve-year-old Chevy van. A Mercedes-Benz parked next to her was just pulling out. Her headlights caught the model of the car, an SL500.
    Probably cost way over a hundred thou, Angie thought. Maybe we should buy one. In two days we’ll have five times that much money, and all of it in cash.
    On the short ride home, she reviewed the timetable. According to Lucas, tomorrow the Pied Piper would get the wire transfer. Tomorrow evening they’d get the million dollars cash. When they were sure it was all there, early Thursday morning they’d drop the kids somewhere and tip the parents off where to find them.
    That was the timetable according to Lucas, Angie thought. But not according to me.

18

    O n Wednesday morning, the unpredictable March weather had once again turned bitterly cold. A biting wind rattled the windows of the dining room where Steve and Margaret sat with Walter Carlson and his colleague, Agent Tony Realto. A second pot of coffee sat untouched on the table.
    Carlson had not thought it was his right to soft-pedal what Franklin Bailey had told him, that one of the twins had been coughing, a deep bronchial-sounding cough. “Steve and Margaret, I know it’s frightening to think that Kathy is sick,” he told them. “On the other hand it proves that Bailey really was listening to them. You’ve been worried that Kathy was getting a cold.”
    â€œDon’t you think that the Pied Piper will know better than to call Bailey’s