Damon chimed in. “Okay, but then we're hitting California Screamin'.”
Jannie stuck her tongue out convivially at her brother, and he gently hip-checked her inreturn. It was like Christmas morning for these two - even the disagreements weremostly in fun.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And then we'll hit It's Tough to Be a Bug! for your littlebrother.”
I scooped up Alex Junior in my arms and held him close, kissed both of his cheeks. Helooked back at me with his peaceable little smile.
Life was good again.
Mary, Mary
chapter 6
THAT WAS WHEN I SAW James Truscott approaching, all six foot five of him, withwaves of red hair hanging down over the shoulders of a black leather jacket.
Somehow, some way, Truscott had gotten his editors in New York to agree to do acontinuing series on me, based on my track record for getting involved with high-profilemurder cases on a fairly regular basis. Maybe it was because the last one, involving thRussian Mafiya, had been the worst case of my career and also very high-profile. I hadtaken the liberty of doing some research on Truscott. He was only thirty, educated atBoston University His specialty was true crime, and he'd published two nonfiction bookson the mafia. A phrase I'd heard about him stuck in my head: He plays dirty“Alex,” he said, smiling and extending his hand as if we were old friends meeting bychance. Reluctantly, I shook hands with Truscott. It wasn't that I disliked him, orobjected to his right to write whatever stories he wanted to, but he had already intrudedinto my life in ways that I felt were inappropriate - like writing daily c-mails andarriving at crime scenes, and even at our house in D.C. Now, here he was, showing up onour family vacation.
“Mr. Truscott,” I said in a quiet voice, “you know I've declined to cooperate with thesearticles.”