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Carrie: “You’ll help?”

“Give it to the police,” Milly said.

“Arthur will give you time off.”

“Right, the guy I jilted at the altar.”

“And manipulated it all,” Kerry said softly.

“Ho, ho. Now Arthur is an evil spider at the centre of a web.”

“Don’t disappoint me,” said Carrie. “You’re underestimating the man because you dislike him. He isn’t the Governor’s legal advisor through luck. You know better. It took brains and political savvy and social skills, aka manipulation. Which reminds me, I forget how you found out about the break-in.”
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“Take that as a vote of confidence,” said Carrie. She smiled broadly. Milly forced herself to recall the RED. Patience was a virtue.

But Milly wasn’t in the mood. “Apart from leaving Arthur at the altar last night. Unless he doesn’t count as a body. Oh, I forgot, you couldn’t attend the joyful occasion, Kerry. Too bad, so sad. Everyone in formal white and black. Men wear black to rue the happy day, I suppose. You’re dead, Kerry, and have an imaginary body plus this real one,” Milly prodded his chest, “that no one believes in. While Arthur, my former beloved, breathes and casts shadows and everyone believes in his body. Though no one would say he is one.” The past came tumbling back into Milly’s head as her words spilled out. “Or is Arthur the dead man on my office floor? In which case he is a body and has one and everyone will believe it.”

Carrie shook her head. She yawned. “You’re rambling. Arthur is fine. Though why you should care, I don’t know.”

“You’re right,” said Milly. She took a few slow breaths. “Arthur didn’t deserve to be jilted. He’s a fine man. Women are entitled, however, to leave fine men. And he was alive last time I saw him.”
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“Gold?” Milly asked.

“Just testing,” said Kerry. “You seem anxious.”

“Try frustrated.” Milly felt her cheeks flush. She slowed her breathing. That usually worked. Kerry said something, but Milly had stopped paying attention. She was evening out, feeling the blood flow through her veins. Kerry was straight-laced to the point of obsession. If he suspected that Milly supplied drugs – she called it medication – he’d lose control.

Kerry gave her the full wattage of his little boy expression. He was a cheerful orphan with broad smile and round happy cheeks. When that didn’t have the desired effect, he tried wry, ironic, disappointed, and tragic. He was good at mimicking emotional effects, unsurprising in Carrie’s twin. Milly still wouldn’t undo the cuffs.
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“Death is good for everything, as it turns out,” said Kerry. “For example, you could kill me now and nobody would arrest you.”

“You’re already dead.”

“Right.”

“Here’s a different scenario. You and Carrie get rid of me.”

“I like the plot so far.”

“Don’t interrupt. You get rid of me and leak this story to the press: ‘Governor Brull’s campaign for the Presidency suffered a setback last night when a close aide was shot while being arrested for murder. Milly Troie, an administrative assistant in the Governor’s legal office, staged a burglary at the Dennis Quall building during which an unidentified man was killed. She resisted arrest and was shot by a police officer. Unconfirmed reports state that financial backers of Governor Brull are stampeding to dissociate themselves from the candidate.’ That’s front page news. Your name in banner headlines. There’s a book in it, maybe millions of dollars. And nobody can prove you wrong.”
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“Just a hired gun, lady,” the man said. He turned to Kerry, who was holding his head in his hands. “Turn around and lean against the wall.” The man spoke softly and slowly. He appeared unemotional, almost uninvolved, transported from a remote time and place. This is business for him, thought Milly. The man sighed and placed the barrel of the gun against Kerry’s head. “Was there something you didn’t understand?”

Kerry put his palms against the wall.

“Who do I shoot first, you or the girl?” the man asked.
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“I’m dead? That’s no way to talk,” said Carrie.

“Not you. You,” said Milly to the strawberry haired man, who replaced Carrie in her field of vision.

“Being dead has its advantages,” said Kerry. “I can come and go without notice, for example.”

“Like a ghost.”

“Exactly.”

“And your burial?” Read Episode

The Diner was Albany’s trendy spot for breakfast. Open around the clock, it featured bright red upholstery and motorcycle décor with a toy train that ran a circuit just below the ceiling. It was a favourite with truckers. Some parts were dimly lit, others bright. The Diner attracted couples who didn’t want to be seen, writers who wound themselves hyper after midnight and couldn’t reattach themselves to the planet, political assistants calming down after marathon strategy sessions, all-night goths and rockers, truck drivers squeezing an extra hundred miles out of the day. Carrie’s windshield washers lulled Milly to sleep. “We’re here,” Carrie shook Milly. Heads turned as they entered. They made an odd couple: Milly the Nordic blonde, Carrie the Celtic minx. “I wish I could turn heads,” Carrie said. Read Episode

Carrie looked at her cell and took the call. “It’s a report,” she whispered to Milly. She seemed irritated, but of course Milly couldn’t trust the appearance. Carrie’s random emotional displacement – RED was what doctors called it – made phatic reading unreliable. It was driving Milly crazy.

Carrie wiped her hands on her slacks. Reports shouldn’t make her hands sweat, thought Milly. She muttered instructions into the phone, taking care that Milly not hear. “It’s early days yet,” she told Milly, closing the phone. “A few rooms trashed, a few thousand dollars gone, some lamps broken. Nothing much.” Read Episode