Day Five (Tuesday)

At precisely nine o'clock, as instructed, Yvette Marcel reported to the lobby of her hotel. The same desk clerk who had checked her in was on duty, and greeted her with a warm smile. "Ah, good morning, Miss Marcel. Did you sleep well?"

"Fine, thank you." She blushed a little and wondered again exactly who these people thought she was. They were polite, but not nearly so gushy, at the other guests; for whatever reason, they had singled her out for excessive attention.

"Your ride is here," he said, gesturing.

Yvette turned, surprised. There were a few other people in the lobby, a band of businessmen, a couple with a small child, and one pretty young woman, looking at the events board.

"Lily?" the clerk called.

The young woman turned and came over. "Thanks, Johnny." She stuck her hand out. "Hi, I'm Lily."

"I'm, uh …"

"Yvette."

"Yes. Sorry, I just … I thought you'd be a lot older."

"I get that a lot. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be." They went outside. A blacked-out Mercedes waited at the curb. "Nice car."

"Thanks. My boyfriend bought it for me."

"Nice boyfriend. He got a brother?"

"Not that I know of."

Yvette settled into the black leather. "It smells a lot better than Mickey's van, anyhow."

Lily laughed. "That's not saying much. The van is nearly new, but it already has that distinctive fast-food smell to it."

"Exactly." Yvette flinched as the driver threaded the Mercedes thought traffic. "My, uh, Robert says you work for Control."

"Well, not directly for him, a couple levels down."

"How'd you get time to work on this wedding?"

"I'm on vacation."

"Oh."

"Do you have plans for today?" Lily asked.

"No. I don't have to be at the office until Monday, so whatever you – all of you – need."

"Good." Lily threaded the sedan between honking taxis. "The last I heard, the agenda for the day included a dress for you, a last visit to the florist, and the production of something called table favors. And with any luck you'll have time to see the apartment."

"I've seen Scott's apartment," Yvette said.

Lily glanced at her. "Oh. No, he doesn't live there any more. I do, actually. He lives with Becky. Same neighborhood. Six blocks away."

"You live in Scott's apartment? How did you … never mind." She shrugged. "It doesn't matter, really. My company was thrilled they don't have to pay for a hotel for the whole six months."

"I bet." Lily frowned. "I should probably warn you …"

"About Kay?"

"Yes."

"Robert already covered it."

"Good. She's been better, this last day or two. But whatever she says, don't take it personally."

"I'll try."

"And if you need to hit her with something, try not to pick up any antiques."

"That good, huh?"

"I stopped carrying a gun," Lily admitted. "I was afraid I'd use it. And we just don't have time on the agenda to be hiding a body."

Yvette laughed. "You all make this sound so inviting."


"Wow," Scott said, staring at the dry-erase board. "I had no idea there was so much involved."

"You should have seen it before we got half the stuff done," Becky said.

"We really needed two boards," Kay confirmed. "Numbers update?"

"Huh?"

"Fifty-two," Becky reported promptly. "Thirteen more."

"Robert?"

"Yes, what?"

"Do you have any more guests coming yet?"

McCall frowned. "Just one more, so far."

Kay scowled at him as if she guessed which one. "I've heard from six more, so we're at …"

"Two fifty-nine," Becky answered.

"Ah, good. Those classes have been paying off. I don't think we're nearly done, though."

Robert sighed. "I'll make more coffee. The girls should be here shortly."

Scott glanced at his watch. "I hope so. I've got to get …" There was a firm knock on Robert's door. "The door," he concluded.

He opened the door. "Yvette!" He swept his half-sister into his arms before she could set down the bags she carried. "I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you," she laughed, "but help Lily."

He released her and turned, barely got his hands out before Lily dropped a huge bag of birdseed into them. "Whoa!" He recovered and shifted the load. "This must weigh fifty pounds."

"It does," she agreed.

"I offered to help her," Yvette said.

"I've carried heavier. Put it on the desk."

"Okay."

"I don't really think we need fifty pounds," Kay said dubiously.

"No," Lily agreed, "but fifty pounds was only three dollars more than twenty pounds, and it offended my sensibilities not to buy it." She claimed the bags from Yvette. "You can take the left-overs home. I bought you a bird feeder."

"I … oh." Kay regarded the glass and brass feeder. "It's lovely. But you should keep it…"

"It would only attract pigeons here. And they kinda creep me out."

"Oh."

Scott returned without the birdseed. "I am so glad you could come," he said again. "This is great."

"And in a moment," Robert said gently, "he'll get around to introducing you."

"Oh, yeah, right, right, sorry. Yvette, this is Becky. Sorry, Yvette Marcel, Becky Baker – for another couple days."

Yvette laughed. "I'm glad to finally meet you."

"Y-you, too."

"And, um, this is my mother, Kay M- um, Kay Wesley."

As calmly as she could, Yvette said, "Hello."

Kay took her outstretched hand and shook it lightly. "Hello. I hope you had a pleasant trip."

"It was fine, thank you."

"And I hope you're good at tying bows," Kay went on briskly. "We've got about three hundred little packets to make up." She looked to Lily. "You got the netting?"

"And the ribbons."

"And the almonds?"

"What almonds?"

'We thought we'd do little packets of birdseed," Becky explained, "and little packets of Jordan almonds for the people."

Lily blinked. "You want fifty pounds of Jordan almonds."

"Well, not that many," Kay countered.

"Green?"

"Assorted colors. Like the flowers."

Romanov sighed. "I'll make some calls."

"We'll deal with that this afternoon," Kay said. "The first thing is to get a dress for Yvette, so we can get a sample to the florist."

"No," Lily said, "this first thing is to get me one more cup of coffee and a sit rev."

"A sit … oh, situation review."

"Yes."

"I've got to run," Scott said. "I don't know when I'll be back. Yesterday's tech rehearsal was a disaster."

"They did seem pretty stressed out," Becky observed.

He shook his head. "Unbelievable. Yvette, I'm really glad you're here, and I'm sorry I can't stay longer …"

"Go," she laughed. "We have things to do."

He paused to kiss his bride-to-be and fled.

"All right," Kay said briskly. "Where shall we start looking for this dress?"

"I have no idea," Yvette confessed. "What color will it be?"

"Green."

"Okay. And how long?"

The women hesitated. "Mickey will be in a tuxedo," Robert offered, surprising them all. "It probably needs to be floor-length."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Can I see the wedding dress? That would give me a better idea what we're looking for."

"It's at the cleaner's," Becky said.

"We have pictures," Robert offered. He led them to the study and pulled a photo album off the shelf. He opened it, flipped a few pages, and held the photo out to them.

Kay said, "I didn't know you'd kept this."

"Of course I kept it."

She sniffed and looked away for a moment.

Yvette took the album gently from him. "Becky's wearing your dress?"

"Yes," Becky said, when Kay didn't answer.

"That is so cool. I mean, that's just … that's really nice. You were beautiful in it."

"Thank you," Kay said unsteadily.

Robert and Lily's eyes met. They were both a little surprised, but this was going to be all right. They relaxed a notch, both wryly acknowledging that they'd been on edge at all.

"It doesn't have to be exactly the same line," Yvette mused. "But something fitted, with the A-line skirt, short sleeves – this shouldn't be that hard to find. Did you have a shade of green in mind?"

"Something you like," Becky said. "The florist can match to it."

Yvette nodded. "Okay. Where do we start?"

"Well," Kay said, gathering herself, "if we had time, we could look for sales at the bridal shops. But as it is, I think we'd be better served at the major department stores. Saks, Macy's, somewhere upscale." She paused. "Of course, we could go out to Connecticut, hit some of the bridal shops – I don't know, they usually want to order dresses and we don't have time for that, we'd have to get them to sell us a floor model. And then you run the risk of them not being quite clean."

"But they'd have the matching shoes there," Yvette pointed out. "Whereas if we hit the chains, we might have to search for shoes."

"Oh, but I'm sure Saks could dye shoes for us, too."

Robert said, "Well, wherever you're going, you need to go. Yvette's meeting her godfather for lunch at 1:00."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Kay puffed visibly. "Well, who's her godfather? Can't we reschedule that?"

"No," Robert said. "We can't."

"I'll get her there," Lily promised. "And then we can go in search of almonds." She shook her head. "Almonds. I don't even know where to start."

"Call Stocky," Robert suggested.

"Ah. Good. Yes."

"Well, we'd better get started on the dress, then," Kay said. "Sak's?"

"Sure," Lily said. "In the car, ladies."

"Or maybe Bloomies …"

"In the car," Lily repeated firmly.


"Oh," the saleswoman gushed, "it's beautiful!"

Yvette looked down dubiously. "I don't know."

"Well, it's a very different shade of green," Kay said slowly. "I don't know how we'd do with matching that shade." She looked pointedly to Becky. "Do you like it?"

"I … uh …"

"Yuck," Lily pronounced.

Becky nodded. "Yes. That."

"I agree," Yvette said quickly.

"Oh, good," Kay breathed. "I mean, if you loved it, but …"

"But it's the latest color," the saleswoman protested. "It's the summer's hot color."

"It's a wedding," Kay said. "We don't want hot colors; we want something that looks good."

"Well. All right, I'll see what else we have …"

"Get dressed," Lily told Yvette. "We're out of here."

"Well, but really …" the saleswoman said.

Yvette was already peeling out of the dress.


Mickey picked up his tuxedo from the cleaners at mid-morning. Ralph was behind the counter, as always, pretending to be Oriental. He was third-generation Brooklyn, and the minute the other customers left, his accent dropped away. "Hey, Kostmayer."

"Hey, Ralph. Got the monkey suit done?"

"All set." He went back to the racks to find the tux. "What's the occasion?"

Kostmayer sighed. "I'm the best man."

"Wedding, huh? Well, don't worry, that mustard stain came out just fine. And the wine, it don't show."

"Good. Thanks."

Ralph took his money, handed over the clothes. "You in on that McCall thing?"

"Yeah. Scott's wedding."

"I got the dress."

"Oh. Good."

"You take it."

"Uh … no," Mickey said. "I don't think I'm authorized."

"Sure, sure, you take it. It's done, you take it."

"No."

"Mama will be happy it's done a day early."

"No."

"Otherwise she'll come back in here. I don't want her in here. She scares me."

"Ralph, I'm not taking the dress."

The counter clerk paused. "Look, you take the dress, I throw the tux cleaning in for free. Save me the delivery charge."

"Ralph …"

"You know how hard it is to get mustard out of wool? I'm gonna have to charge you triple for that stain."

"You bastard," Mickey growled. He snagged his money back. "Give me the damn dress."


"That's … better," Kay said dubiously, studying the sea-foam colored dress.

"The color's better," Yvette said. "I'm not sure about the cut. It's so … puffy."

"What do you think?" Kay asked Becky.

"I don't know. It's just … not what I had in mind."

"It makes her look like an unripe pumpkin," Lily said. "Next!"


"How did you get the dress?" McCall demanded. "No, never mind, I don't want to know. I'll hang it in the back bedroom."

"Thanks." Mickey rubbed his hand ruefully. "Damn thing weighs a ton."

"I know."

Kostmayer wandered back to the den and looked at the board. "McCall, this is ridiculous."

"Hmm?" Robert returned without the dress.

"Colors, columns – Romanov must be loving this."

"Oh, yes," Robert agreed. "She does enjoy the impossible operation, doesn't she?"

Mickey shook his head. "What's this word?"

"Rehearsal, I think."

"Not reversal?"

"I don't think so." Robert tipped his head. "Well, it might be. Or refusal."

"Why does it have Nick's name behind it? My brother Nick?"

"He's running the rehearsal, yes."

Kostmayer raised an eyebrow. "My brother the Catholic priest is rehearsing this wedding?"

"It's a long story."

"Uh-huh." Mickey shook his head. "While I got you, McCall, I was thinking. We don't really have time for any kind of bachelor party – although I do know some people who could …"

"No," McCall said firmly. "I have already spent enough on this wedding without throwing bail for the entire wedding party. And Scott is leaving the country on Sunday."

"Yeah, that's kinda what I thought. But maybe," Mickey shrugged, "we could go out for a drink after the rehearsal dinner?"

Robert considered, nodded. "One drink, yes. That would be acceptable."

Kostmayer grinned impishly. "I know just the place."


"Oh," Becky said.

"Yes," Yvette agreed.

"That's lovely," Kay agreed.

Lily slapped Robert McCall's credit card down. "We'll take it." She glanced at her watch. "Show us shoes."


There was a soft knock on the door. Control looked up, scowled with irritation, then went back to his work. He'd asked not to be disturbed. He had to get at least this piece done if he was going to take anything like a real lunch break today.

After a moment, the knock repeated.

"What?" he barked.

The door opened just far enough to Yvette Marcel to poke her head through. "It's no wonder everybody's scared to knock."

"Yvette!" he said with genuine delight. He stood, sliding the papers under a file folder smoothly. "Come in, come in." He rounded the desk to hug her. "I thought we were meeting for lunch."

Yvette smiled at him. "That was an hour ago."

Startled, he looked at his watch. "No, it's only … oh. Oh, Yvette, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she said warmly. "I was warned that might happen." She brought up her arm and showed him the large shopping bag she held. "So I brought lunch to you. I hope that's okay."

"It's fine," he agreed. He was suddenly aware of how hungry he was, and how delicious the contents of the bag smelled. He gestured towards the couch and coffee table. "Come, sit. How'd you get in here, anyhow?"

"Lily signed me in. Romanov."

He glanced towards the door. "Is she still here?"

"No. I asked her to have lunch with us, but she said she had a million things to do. I think she thought it would be awkward. You know, lunch in the boss' office."

"Mmm." He sank to the couch and studied her frankly. "You look wonderful. It's been too long."

She nodded self-consciously. "You look tired, godfather."

Control grunted noncommittally and helped himself to the lasagna she'd brought. If it wasn't made by Becky herself, it had certainly come from her restaurant. "How goes the wedding planning?"

Yvette grinned wryly. "Well, it's interesting."

"Interesting. You have your mother's knock for diplomacy."

"We shopped for a dress for me this morning. With Scott's mom. We found a dress, and there was no bloodshed. That's about the best I can say."

"Kay can be very – intense."

"Intense," Yvette laughed. "Now who's the diplomat?"

Control shrugged. "I'm trying to put a pleasant spin on it. You do have to deal with her for the next week."

"Yes. But poor Becky has to deal with her for the rest of her life." She shook her head. "I like her, though. Becky. She's sweet. You've met her?"

"Yes."

"Scott's completely crazy about her."

"I hadn't noticed."

She laughed again. "And Lily is just …"

"What?"

"Never mind."

Control wiped his mouth. "Lily Romanov once stepped between me and a bullet. I think I can safely say that our relationship is somewhat more than professional."

Yvette nodded. "She reminds me of my mother."

"Oh." Control sat back. The comment surprised him deeply, and he consciously composed his features, calmed his voice. "How so?"

"She's just so … she does things, you know? Kay wants to talk and negotiate and dither, and Lily just does things." She took a bite of her salad and chewed it thoughtfully. "When I was in primary school, there was this mothers' group that planned the class parties, things like that. And they wanted to have a fund-raiser, but they couldn't decide what to sell or when or how, it went around and around for weeks, and finally my mother got fed up and went in and said, 'Look, you're selling this and this on these dates, end of discussion.' And they did, and they made a ton of money." She shook her head. "Of course the next year they put her in charge."

"No good deed goes unpunished," Control mused. Somehow he had never imagined Manon as a PTA mother.

"Anyhow, Lily's the same way. She lets Kay discuss and talk and all, but then she gets to a point where she just says, enough, we're doing this. And the weird thing is, Kay goes along with it."

"Hmm."

"Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that Robert gave Lily his credit cards."

Control nearly spit pasta. "He what?"

"Kay's planning the wedding," Yvette grinned, "but Lily has control of all the money."

"Clever of him."

"I thought so." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Do they have a thing going?"

"Who?"

"My father and Lily."

Control blinked. "She's a little young for him, don't you think?"

"That's not an answer."

"What makes you think I'd know?"

"Because you know everything, godfather."

He sighed. "I know almost everything. And to answer your impertinent question, no. As far as I know they're only friends."

"Did they used to have a thing?"

"Not that I know of."

She sat back, frowning. "Are you sure?"

"I'm reasonably sure."

"Hmm."

"What makes you ask, anyhow? Besides the credit cards."

Yvette shook her head. "I don't know. There's just something between them, some kind of … I don't know. Like they understand each other too well. Like they have too many secrets."

"They are both in the same profession."

"No, that's not it. There's something more."

Control shook his head. "I don't know. I don't see it."

"Maybe I'm just imagining things."

"Robert does have a lady friend," Control offered, gently changing the subject. "She's a historian. Lives in Scott's building. But I've never met her."

"Oh. Well, maybe at the wedding."

"If I can get away from here."

"You'll try, won't you?"

"I'll try my best."

They ate for a moment in silence. "And you?" Control said. "What's happened to young Pierre?"

She looked up, startled. "You really do know everything, don't you?"

"I keep track of the important things."

"He's gone," Yvette said. "Out of the picture. I liked him – I loved him – but we couldn't work things out."

"Are you all right?"

She considered. "I'm okay. It's been four months, I think I'm getting over him. Finally. This trip is good. It's good to stop moping around."

"I'm glad."

"It's hard, though," she admitted. "I mean – this sounds so dumb – if he'd been somehow awful, it would be easy. If he'd cheated on me or been a drunk or something, you know, something easy to see, it would have been easier to break up with him. But he was wonderful. He just wasn't … I don't know."

"He wasn't your wonderful," her godfather supplied.

Yvette sighed. "Exactly. My friends think I'm crazy for leaving him. And I'm starting to think they're right. I mean, I did love him. It just wasn't like, forever love. It was just good enough. And that's not really … good enough. How do you always do that?"

"What?"

"You ask me one simple question and here I am babbling, pouring my heart out like some love-sick puppy."

Control smiled gently. "It's in knowing what question to ask." He leaned and kissed her forehead. "You should not settle for good enough, Yvette."

"I know. I know. And I'm glad I didn't. But it's still hard." She loaded her fork with lasagna, then put it down uneaten. "You know what's wonderful, though?"

"What's that?"

"When I saw Scott with Becky, when I saw how good they were together, I knew I did the right thing with Pierre. Because as long as I was with him, settling for good enough, I didn't have any chance at all of finding what they have." She shook her head. "They're so lucky."

"Mmm," Control answered noncommittally. He was not inclined to think that Becky Baker was all that lucky, given her past. But Yvette didn't know about that, nor did she need to know about it.

Yvette reclaimed her fork and ate. "You want to hear something stupid? I sorta thought, coming back here, I might get to rekindle things with Mickey. But obviously that's not going to work out."

Control stared at her. "You and Kostmayer? No, that wouldn't have worked out at all."

"Why?"

"Because I wouldn't have allowed it. If I thought you were seriously interested in him, I'd dispatch him to Siberia. Forever."

Yvette laughed. "He's nice."

"He's crazy. And dangerous."

"Robert likes him."

"I didn't say I didn't like him. I said I would never let him date you."

"My great protector."

"Now and always, Yvette."

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter anyhow. He'd getting married, too."

Control shrugged. "He's engaged. I haven't seen him make any moves towards getting married."

"Well, anyhow, you don't have to send him to Siberia."

"Not right away."

Yvette studied him as he continued to eat. "And you, godfather?"

"What about me?"

"Are you still alone?"

He hesitated. "I have my work."

"That's not what I meant."

"Yvette. You have to understand. In my position, in this job … even if I had time for a relationship, which I honestly don't, it would have to be a secret. A very closely-kept secret."

"Even from me." She nodded slowly. "I understand. But I worry about you. About how alone you are."

He glanced towards the door. "I am not as alone as you might think. And that is all I can say on that topic."

"Oh." She sat back, grinning, surprised. "Oh."

"About Pierre," Control continued. "You made the right choice. I know it's hard to believe right now, but the right man will come along."

Yvette frowned. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm just too … I expect too much. You know? Like no one could possibly live up to all my expectations."

"No one can."

"But you just said …"

"The right one will come along? He will. But he won't live up to all your expectations. Just most of them. And he'll be special enough that the others don't matter."

"I don't know."

"Trust me, Yvette. Your great love is still out there. And he will find you when you very least expect it."

She eyed him skeptically. "Like yours did?"

Control's eyes twinkled. He took another bite of pasta, chewed it slowly. "This is really good."

"You're not going to tell me."

"The bread is very fresh, too."

"My mother was right about you. You are such a brat sometimes."

He grinned and continued his lunch.


Mickey Kostmayer looked over his gear one more time.

It had been laid out two weeks ago, in the expectation that this vacation Control had sent him on would be cut short. He already knew there was nothing missing. Everything he could reasonably take with him had been gathered. Everything he couldn't would be provided once he got there. Or, he would live without it.

Or die without it.

He closed the little closet and locked it. He didn't fear that Annie would pry; she already knew what was in it. But the kids from the neighborhood had a habit of wandering into the apartment and making themselves at home, and Mickey did not want to deal with having them pawing through there. Most of the lethal items were elsewhere, but kids could be damned inventive.

He always had been.

He went to the darkroom and unlocked the bottom drawer of the little work table. He didn't bother to take the items out. It was all there. The will, the letters, the cash. Annie knew where the key was. If he didn't come back …

He locked the drawer.

Control was crazy-making with this vacation crap. He probably thought he was being considerate, compassionate – as much as Control ever did – giving everyone leave before this nightmare got properly ramped up. He was wrong. All the agents Mickey knew were bouncing off the walls. They knew damn well it was going to be bad. They just wanted to get on with it.

The first week off had been nice, he had to admit. The second was getting grinding. There was too much time, to say too many things. Too much time to think. Not about his own death, which had never bothered Kostmayer much, but about how it would affect the ones around him. They would go on, all of them. Robert, Nick – they'd been half-expecting him to get killed momentarily. But they would still hurt. And Annie …

And Annie was going to the Balkans, too. The idea made his stomach churn. All right, he supposed, if he died there, but she was a civilian, armed only with a camera and, on a good day, a U.N. escort. If he died it was one thing. If she died …

But he couldn't tell her not to go. He couldn't be that selfish.

Like Control, he thought suddenly, and Lily. He could order her not to go, she might not even fight him on it much, but it would always be there. Mickey was in the same boat as his boss. Independent women. "Damn."

"You swore, love?" Anne asked, coming into the darkroom.

"I did," Mickey answered. "How's the hotel?"

She made a face. "Better, I think. I want to print these and check. It's a little overcast today; that helps a lot with the glare."

"I'll see what I can do about rain for Saturday."

"Oh, would you?"

"For you, babe, anything."

She was busy unloading her camera for a moment, and when she looked up he was still there, watching her. "What?"

"Nothing." Mickey shrugged innocently. "I was just looking at you."

"Oh."

"I picked up Yvette at the airport."

Anne frowned over her film. "Yvette's the sister, right?"

"Uh-huh. She had a thing for me. Still does, apparently."

"I need to kneecap her?"

"No. I made it perfectly clear I was off the market. She was disappointed, of course."

"Well, I can't blame her for that."

"Hey, Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you, uh, just waiting around for me to say something else about the wedding?"

She looked up at him, distracted and puzzled. "About Scott's wedding?"

"No. About ours."

"Oh." Anne paused, put the film down. "Well, honestly, I hadn't given it much thought."

"Oh, good."

"I mean, I guess I sorta thought we'd get to that after this Balkans thing was straightened out."

Mickey frowned. "That could be years, you know."

"I know," she answered seriously. "But …" She stopped, sighed. "Here's the thing. You promised you'd marry me. If you go over there with that promise hanging over you, I figure you have to come back and keep it."

"Oh."

"Whereas if we go ahead and do it, then you can die with a clear conscience, because you kept your promise, and I'm not about to let you do that."

"Uhhhh …" Mickey stared at her. "Damn."

"I know it's stupid. But there it is."

"But you're going to be there, too."

"Not where you are."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense to me," he said lightly. He kissed her forehead. "Good luck with the pictures."

Mickey left the darkroom and closed the door quietly. Safely behind it, he rubbed his knuckles across the tears that had inexplicably filled his eyes. "Damn," he said quietly. "Damn."