18
It was ridiculously easy for Fern to approach Luci Seymour, the small gun and the cast on her arm concealed in the folds of her loose dress and the lacy shawl she’d picked up in a little dress shop in the Quarter and paid for with one dollar bills.
“Excuse me, miss?”
Luci turned with a friendly smile.
“Is there another ladies’ room? The one down here has someone—” She grimaced slightly. With those old aunts of hers, the girl would know all about incontinence.
“Oh, of course. Upstairs—” With a gentle, but firm grip on her arm Luci eased Fern through the crowds and out into the hall. “If you go up here, take a right—”
Fern turned up the edges of her mouth in what she hoped passed for a smile and shoved the concealed gun into the girl’s side.
“Could you show me, dear?” The girl’s ey
