But she was no longer ignorant about the ugliest clothes in the universe. She’d topped the orange pants with a tentlike housecoat with rainbows all over it.

She’d tucked her hair up into a silver, curly-haired wig and donned an old pair of Mrs. Pfluger’s glasses, which had red frames and were only slightly uglier than Lucy’s own.

“My old walker is over there.” Mrs. Pfluger gestured toward a corner of her living room.

“This will never work,” Lucy said on a moan. “No one will believe I’m eighty years old.”

“Eighty-two,” Mrs. Pfluger said.

“Trust me, if anyone is watching the place, they won’t look past the obvious at the place next door.” He unfolded the portable walker and set it in front of Lucy. “Let’s see you do an old-lady walk.”

Lucy hunched over the walker and did a creditable imitation of an arthritic senior citizen inching along.

“Oh, heavens,” Mrs. Pfluger said. “Please don’t tell me I look like that when I walk.”

“I’m exaggerating,” Lucy said. Then she turned to her neighbor and gave her a spontaneous hug. “Oh, Mrs. Pfluger, I can’t thank you enough for helping us out like this. I mean, you don’t even know this guy.”

“He showed me a badge,” Mrs. Pfluger said innocently, having no clue the badge he’d shown her was fake and could be bought on any street corner in D.C.

“Anyway, he has trustworthy eyes. He’ll take care of you.”

“I’m counting on it,” Lucy said, giving Bryan a meaningful look. “Can we go now?”

Bryan thanked Lucy’s elderly neighbor, too, then “helped” Lucy out the door and down the wheelchair ramp.

“Keep your head down. That’s it,” he whispered. “You’re doing great. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were someone’s grandmother.” But he did know better.