Mary, Mary Read Free Page A

freight train, or so it seemed, along with screams of terror—the good kind, the “don’t stop” kind. I’d heard enough of the other kind to appreciate the difference.
    Against all odds, I had put in for vacation, been approved, and actually gotten out of town before FBI Director Burns or his people came up with a half-dozen reasons why I couldn’t go away at this time. The kids’ first choice had been Disney World and Epcot Village in Florida. For my own reasons, and also since it was hurricane season down South, I steered us to Disneyland and their newest park, Disney’s California Adventure.
    “California, indeed.” Nana Mama shaded her eyes from the sun glare. “I haven’t seen a naturally occurring thing since we arrived here, Alex. Have you?”
    She pursed her lips and pulled down the corners of her mouth, but then she couldn’t help laughing, putting herself in stitches. That’s Nana. She almost never laughs at other people—she laughs with them.
    “You can’t fool me, old woman. You just love to see us all together. Anywhere, anyhow, anytime. We could be in Siberia for all you’d care.”
    She brightened. “Now,
Siberia
. That’s somewhere I
would
like to see. A trip on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, the Sayany Mountains, Lake Baikal. You know, it wouldn’t kill American children to take a vacation once in a while where they actually learned something about another culture.”
    I rolled my eyes in Damon and Jannie’s direction. “Once a teacher . . .”
    “Always a teacher,” Jannie said.
    “Always a tee-cha,” repeated Little Alex. He was three years old, and our own little myna bird. We got to see him too infrequently, and I was partially amazed by everything he did. His mother had taken him back to Seattle more than a year ago. The painful custody struggles between Christine and me were still dragging on.
    Nana’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Where do we go fir—”
    “Soarin’ Over California!” Jannie had it out before Nana was even finished asking the question.
    Damon chimed in. “Okay, but then we’re hitting California Screamin’.”
    Jannie stuck her tongue out convivially at her brother, and he gently hip-checked her in return. It was like Christmas morning for these two—even the disagreements were mostly in fun.
    “Sounds like a plan,” I said. “And then we’ll hit
It’s Tough to Be a Bug!
for your little brother.”
    I scooped up Alex Junior in my arms and held him close, kissed both of his cheeks. He looked back at me with his peaceable little smile.
    Life was good again.

Chapter 6
    THAT WAS WHEN I SAW James Truscott approaching, all six foot five of him, with waves of red hair hanging down over the shoulders of a black leather jacket.
    Somehow, some way, Truscott had gotten his editors in New York to agree to do a continuing series on me, based on my track record for getting involved with high-profile murder cases on a fairly regular basis. Maybe it was because the last one, involving the Russian Mafiya, had been the worst case of my career and also very high-profile. I had taken the liberty of doing some research on Truscott. He was only thirty, educated at Boston University. His specialty was true crime, and he’d published two nonfiction books on the mafia. A phrase I’d heard about him stuck in my head: He plays dirty.
    “Alex,” he said, smiling and extending his hand as if we were old friends meeting by chance. Reluctantly, I shook hands with Truscott. It wasn’t that I disliked him, or objected to his right to write whatever stories he wanted to, but he had already intruded into my life in ways that I felt were inappropriate—like writing daily e-mails and arriving at crime scenes, and even at our house in D.C. Now, here he was, showing up on our family vacation.
    “Mr. Truscott,” I said in a quiet voice, “you know I’ve declined to cooperate with these articles.”
    “No problem.” He grinned. “I’m cool with that.”
    “I’m