30
The prospect of a top-secret mission makes Baggy’s eyes light up like a young child’s on Christmas morning. “Will I need a g*n?” She’s already foraging in her oversized leather Aigner handbag.
“No!” I practically shout, certain that she’ll accidentally shoot someone if she whips a g*n out of her purse.
The old woman looks disappointed that she won’t get to use her weapon, so I stride over to her and lean down to speak close to her face. I infuse my voice with enthusiasm when I ask, “How would you like to go on a mission in search of flowers?”
“Flowers?” Baggy practically spits, obviously disgusted with the idea. “Those aren’t dangerous. Send Grandmother Hibiscus out for those. I need to be in on the real action and danger. I’m a spy, you know,” she waggles her sparse brows at the la
