could wring tears from a marble statue. Quick to anger but quicker to forgive, Kennie was no statue. After all, she’d said “I do,” the same as he had. Was it fair for her to expect him to carry all the blame?
She responded to the gentle push on her back as Alex propelled her forward. He fell in step beside her. “You’re being unreasonable, you know.”
She did a low simmer. It was one thing to think it herself but quite another to have him point it out to her.
“I realize this situation is a bit… shall we say, avant garde, but nothing’s happened that can’t be corrected,” he assured her.
“Hallelujah!” She sidestepped to avoid brushing elbows with him at every step. But even so, he was too close for comfort, and as if that weren’t bad enough, Chris was practically on her heels, grumbling under his breath.
A charter bus wheezed to a stop beside them. Gray-haired ladies began disembarking, cackling to one another. In moments, dozens of women wearing matching blue chambray shirts decorated with the logo of their organization—Gambling Grannies—swarmed around them. They split into groups, and most headed directly for the closest casino. A few, however, fell in step behind Kennie, Alex and Chris.
Alex closed his hand over her upper arm, ostensibly to help her down the curb. Shards of pain shot up her left calf as it protested the lack of support from the broken heel of her sandal. But why did she have to feel tingles all the way from his warm fingers to the nape of her neck? Frustrated by her body’s rebellious reaction to his touch, she pulled away from him once they got across the street.
“You do wonders for a man’s ego, you know. I’m beginning to take this personally.” His tone was one of mock insult.
“Beginning?” Kennie stopped and stared at him, appalled. “Beginning? Believe me, I took this thing personally the moment I woke up in bed with you two this morning, and the more I hear, the more personal it gets!”
The group of ladies behind them exchanged puzzled glances and drew closer to them.
“Last night you acted as if I was doing you a favor,” Alex said.
“A favor?” She faced him, her arms akimbo. “Just what in tarnation is that supposed to mean? Next you’ll be telling me I held a gun to your head!” She wheeled away from him and headed toward the bridge.
“You poor dear,” a quavering, motherly voice said from beside her. Kennie turned toward a short, stout woman who had a kind face and a silver pompadour that added five inches to her height. “I understand the problems of the heart. Myself, I can’t cross this bridge without thinking about Albert,” the woman confided, sniffing.
“Do we have to hear this again, Maizie?” complained a blue-haired matron who wore a rhinestone pin spelling VERA on her bosom.
“It was on this very bridge in 1936,” Maizie went on, ignoring Vera. “Our divorce had just become final. I threw his rings over the side, right at this very same spot. Very nearly threw myself over, I was so distraught.”
Kennie eyed her ring finger.
“Don’t you dare, Kennie Sue,” Chris hissed from behind Alex.
“Relax. It’s okay,” Alex assured him.
Maizie continued. “No sooner did I get back to the hotel than I received the telegram. Albert’s appendix had burst and he was dead—and I missed inheriting three-quarters of a million dollars by twenty minutes!”
“Thank you, Maizie,” Vera intoned. “Now that you’ve gotten that out of your system again, can we go on to the casinos?”
But Maizie offered Kennie her hand. “Come along with me, and let us help you. I’ve only been divorced once, but Vera’s been a grass widow four times.”
Distracted, Kennie shook her head and broke away, moving doggedly toward the side of the bridge.
“Dearie, where are you going?” Maizie called.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Vera chided. “She’s going to throw herself in!”
Maizie gasped, then wagged a gnarled finger
Learning to Kill: Stories