Holy Rollers (13 page)

Finally, he raised his head and said, “You know what? That’ll work.”

“No way!” Mary Beth crossed her arms across her chest and fell into a pout. “You cooked that up with Chase. That’s not fair!”

Grant ignored her. “It’s a conservative church, so who better to join as new parishioners than a happily married couple?”

“Lambert…” There was ice in Mary Beth’s voice.

But Lisa was now as enthusiastic as Grant.
She
got it, at least. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Lisa!” Now Mary Beth’s attitude was edging past annoyance.

Chase looked at Mary Beth and leered, adding an exaggerated wink for good measure. “I like this plan, too, honey bunch.”

Mary Beth was having none of it. “I will kill all of you and bury your body parts in the backyard.”

And she might have, had the doorbell not opportunely rung. They looked around the kitchen at each other, no one volunteering, until the bell rang a second time.

Finally Lisa stood. Unhappiness was in her voice as she said, “I’ll get it.”

The woman at the front door was somewhere in her forties, no matter how hard she tried to hide it with Clairol and Botox, and exhaled a vague, stale aroma of white wine. Lisa received a perky smile.

“Mrs. Williams?”

Lisa cocked her head. “Pardon me?”

“Aren’t you Mrs. Williams?”

Lisa began to back into the foyer. “I’m afraid you have the wrong house.”

The woman put her hand on the door, neutralizing Lisa, although Lisa was unsure if that was to steady herself or to prevent it from being closed. And she now had an annoying singsong inflection in her voice.

“But I met
Mr.
Williams earlier, and I know it was
this
house.” When Lisa didn’t react, the Clairol blonde scrunched her face. “Mr. Williams? Mr.
Grant
Williams?”

Lisa’s face betrayed no reaction, but her thoughts were altogether different:
Okay, Lambert, if you’re going to use a fake name, that’s something you should share with everyone else. It would make life
much
easier.

Lisa moved her head from the door and gave the woman a thin smile. “I’m sorry for the confusion. What threw me off is…is…” Her mouth took charge when her mind went blank. “I’m not Mrs. Williams.”

The blonde’s smile flickered, although the flesh around her mouth barely moved. “Then if you don’t mind me asking…”

“I’m Lisa, Mr. Williams’s, uh…” She blanked again for a moment until she realized a non-answer wouldn’t work. “I’m Mr. Williams’s
sister-in-law
.” She offered her hand and the blonde took it. “Mrs. Williams died in a tragic accident last year, so…” Lisa laughed nervously, which she realized probably seemed inappropriate. Still, she lifted her hands, palms stretched outward. “So…no more Mrs. Williams!”

“Oh, dear!” The woman clutched at her throat. If there had been pearls, or a necklace, or anything around her neck to grab except drum-tight flesh, the gesture might have worked. Instead, it looked practiced. “I’m
so
sorry to hear that.” She waited expectantly for Lisa to continue, but when it became clear that the story was over she finally introduced herself. “I’m Tish Fielding. From across the street. I asked Mr. Williams to tend to the yard earlier today, and well…” She looked around the lawn, shaking a nervous hand at the carnage, and quickly returned her gaze to Lisa. “Would it be possible for me to have a word with him?”

“I’ll get him.” Lisa smiled at the opportunity to close the door in Tish’s face, which she did, even as Tish tried to stop it, chipping one red nail in the process. As she walked back to the kitchen, she called out, “It’s for you, Williams.”

Grant, now nursing a beer at the kitchen table, looked up. “Oh…right. Sorry I forgot to clue you in.”

“The next time you give a neighbor a fake name, it’d be a good idea to share the information with your housemates.” She nudged a shoulder in the direction of the door. “You’d better talk to her and make her go away. Then we’re gonna figure out how we’re all supposed to be related to each other.”

Grant did as he was told. Tish was still waiting on the front porch, looking more than a little agitated.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your wife,” she said when he finally worked up the nerve to poke his head out the front door.

A quizzical expression played on the edge of his mouth, but he managed to stammer out, “Thank you.”

“If there’s anything you need…”

“Well, it was a long time ago, but thank you. I’m fine.”

Tish reached out to stroke his shoulder, a gesture she hoped would be comforting, but then remembered it was
him
and pulled her hand back before she actually made physical contact.

“A year may seem like a long time, but it’s still recent. Those memories will keep coming back. If that happens, let me or Malcolm know. Dr. Bradean on August Morning Lane is a grief counselor, and I’m sure she can help.”

“Uh…thanks.”

“Anyway,” Tish squared her shoulders and continued, forcing chipperness into her voice, “the reason I’m here is because of the lawn.”

He showed a tiny bit of teeth between his lips. Grant Lambert wasn’t used to smiling, so he hoped it looked friendly. It didn’t.

“You wanted it neatened up, and we did it.”

“You did…well,
something
.” She took another look at the mutilated greenery. “Something I hope can be fixed.”

Grant surveyed his work. “Maybe the hedges could be a bit more even.”

“And the grass.”

“Maybe.”

“And I have no idea
what
happened to your flower beds, but…Well, what
did
happen to your flower beds?” She looked at petals littering the slate walkway that used to be attached to stems, destruction Chase had left behind earlier that afternoon.

He shrugged. “I don’t think the guy who owns this joint took good care of them.”

“Joint?”

“I mean, house.”

“You mean Mr. Yee? But Mr. Yee is an amateur horticulturist!”

“He’ll never be a professional if he keeps killing his flowers.” He looked up to see Farraday pulling the rental car into the driveway and knew it was time to wrap up their conversation. “Listen, I appreciate your concern about wanting the neighborhood to look nice. I’m afraid we’re just a bunch of city people who don’t have lawns, so maybe we’re a bit out of our league. But we’ll try harder. Maybe we’ll even get one of those service lawns.”

She stared at him. “Do you mean a lawn service?”

“Uh…yeah. That.”

“Thank you,” she said, but her attention was now on Farraday as he unloaded grocery bags from the trunk. She turned back to Grant. “My, there are certainly a lot of people living in this house.”

“Yeah. That’s Farraday. He’s our driver.” The moment those words spontaneously came out of his mouth, he wished he could stuff them back in, and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

But she did, and her eyes widened. Grant noticed that, for once, she seemed impressed. Her skin even moved.

“You have a chauffeur?”

“I mean…uh…” He stood stupidly in the doorway for a few seconds, then decided to go with it. She
had
been impressed, after all.

So he said, “Doesn’t everyone?”

Tish leaned close to him, as if they were now confidantes. “Can I ask you a personal question? I mean, now that we’re neighbors…”

He thought about that. “Maybe.”

“What do you do?”

He thought some more. “I guess you could say I’m sorta in the financial sector.”

“Hedge funds?”

Grant shivered a bit at the word “hedge” and scratched at his rib cage.

“This and that,” he said.

Tish winked. “Hedge funds, right?”

He scratched an elbow. “Sure. Why not?”

$ $ $

Grant was back in the kitchen, seated, and the rest of his gang hovered around him.

There were other rooms in the house—many larger, even though the kitchen was pretty damn large—but they still all naturally congregated in the kitchen. Plus, Farraday had been right: the aroma of homemade mint jelly was part of its charm. Good thing he’d found the marjoram.

“I wasn’t counting on nosy neighbors,” Grant said to no one in particular.

“Whether you counted on ’em or not, we got ’em,” said Lisa.

“I just figured we’d do what we do, and that would be that. I didn’t think anyone would question it.”

“I just wanna know why
I’ve
gotta be the hired help?” Farraday, who’d learned of his new cover as he toted grocery bags into the house, clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“It’s only for a few weeks. You’ll live with it. Just like I’m gonna pretend to be a hedge fund guy named Williams and live with it.”

“Yeah, but you get to be the finance guy, and Lisa gets to be your sister-in-law. It ain’t fair that I’m the menial laborer. The chauffeur and chef. I mean, what kind of bullshit is that?”

Grant leaned forward. “But you
are
the driver and cook.”

“
Chauffeur
and
chef
.” Farraday smacked a spatula against a pan on the stovetop. “But whatever you say,
Mr.
Williams.”

Grant tried to ignore him.

“After we steal seven million dollars from the Virginia Cathedral of Love, you can bet the people we stole it from are gonna be looking for us. I don’t want to make it any easier for them than it has to be. And there are a lot of Williamses in the world.” He turned to Lisa. “You give Tish Fielding your name?”

“Just my first name.”

“First names are okay.” He had a philosophy when he was pulling jobs: whenever possible, his crew should use their real first names. It was too easy to slip up and forget an alias, a lesson he’d learned the hard way.

And first names were hard to trace. Last names were a different story, which is why he tried to use a common one—like Williams—when he was working. Calling Farraday “Farraday” was a mistake he was still kicking himself over, although he doubted Tish Fielding would present a problem.

Mary Beth looked annoyed, which wasn’t surprising since that was the way she usually looked. “We’d better get the cover story together before there are any more screw-ups. Like identities sprung by surprise. Or dead wives.”

“Right,” said Grant. “So Farraday is our chauffeur, and Lisa is my sister-in-law. Lisa, you’re gonna need a last name. Something common, and something you can remember.”

Lisa didn’t even take time to think. “Hudson.”

“Hudson?” asked Grant.

“As in Kate.”

Mary Beth covered her eyes. “I should’ve seen that coming. You had to go and steal my Kate Hudson thing, didn’t you?”

“You don’t want something more common? Like maybe Smith? Brown?” Lisa shook her head. “Okay, then, as long as you can remember and keep it straight.”

“Oh, I can remember,” Lisa said, with a hoarse laugh. “Hudson, Hudson, Hudson.” That made Constance laugh, too, which in turn made Mary Beth glower.

“Hudson it is, then,” Grant said, and Mary Beth thumped her head against the wall a few times. “Now, Chase and Mary Beth, you’re pretending to be a married couple, so you’ll be…”

“I’ll be Lisa’s nephew: Chase Hudson!” Those were two bones he threw to Mary Beth. She’d get to use the Hudson name, too, and they knew Lisa would hate pretending to be his aunt. She’d hated the role in a past job they’d pulled together, after all.

Lisa didn’t disappoint, snapping out of her triumph over adopting the name of Mary Beth’s crush as quickly as she’d taken it on. “How come I always have to be the aunt?”

“Because you don’t like being the aunt,” Chase teased. “Discomfort keeps us on our game.”

“But I’m only a few years older than you. I could never pass for your aunt.”

Mary Beth snorted. “Twelve years are considered a
few
now?”

Lisa flicked her middle finger at Chase. She would have done the same to Mary Beth, but she wasn’t afraid of Chase. “That’s it! I’m keeping the Hudson name for myself.”

“No way.” Mary Beth had warmed to Chase’s suggestion and was digging in her Prada heels. “Chase will be Chase Hudson, and I’ll be Mary Beth Hudson, and you will be his aunt. We’re now the Hudson family, and
that
is the end of the discussion.”

“She read
you
,” Constance said to Lisa.

Lisa’s voice was barely audible as she glumly leaned back in her chair. “If that’s the end of the discussion, that’s the end of the discussion, I suppose.” As she said those words, she thought of other last names Chase and Mary Beth could assume.
Asshole
had a nice ring to it…

Grant didn’t like having all these Hudsons in the house—what the hell was wrong with Jones or Wilson or Carter?—but knew a lost battle when he saw one. He did, however, have to insist on one change.

“Chase, you’re not Chase anymore.”

Chase sighed loudly. “Charles again?”