HE STAYED. WE WENT. It should have been a success—winning an argument with one of the skinless.
Instead, as Slim and I sat in his car staking out Mr. Smythewhite’s office, I felt so lonely I called my sister up.
“Are you sure Mr. Smythewhite is still in there?” I asked Grace over speaker phone.
Because, in addition to playing bodyguard, she’d taken on the role of telephone actress. She’d rung Mr. Smythewhite before he left his office, pretending to be the secretary for a very important client. Predictably, he’d been more than happy to wait for a document to be messengered over.
“I texted you this already.” From her tone, my twin wasn’t pleased to have her work questioned. But she answered anyway. “I called him back fifteen minutes ago rescinding my request. He’ll be at his car shortly.
