Page 67 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
Kimberly struggled to come up with a response to that.
“I’m always collecting extra grandsons—one never knows when one will need to move and can use the extra muscle.” Mrs. Scott patted Kimberly on the arm and entered an empty stall.
Agent Garcia impatiently tapped her foot against the tile floor, as Mrs. Wallace started telling Kimberly about her newest grandchild and pulling out a slew of photos. Kimberly slipped out of the bathroom, Mrs. Wallace in tow. They walked to the fellowship hall, where only two small tables were set up for the funeral dinner. Eager to keep out of the agent’s line of fire, Kimberly entered the kitchen and thanked each of the women there for preparing a meal, then gave them a hug. When she exited the kitchen, she directed the Hastings Security team to take their seats.
Pastor Baxter joined them. “Oh, do we not have enough plates?” He looked pointedly at the FBI agents.
“No, we’re fine. Agents Danes and Garcia are looking for an opportune time to question me. Unfortunately, my mother’s funeral dinner is not the time.” Kimberly glared at the agents. Agent Garcia nodded and pulled Agent Danes from the room.
Dinner included baked ham, green-bean casserole, rolls, and a cheesy potato casserole Gladys referred to as funeral potatoes. Kimberly ate with the Hastings Security team. As the pastor spoke to Adam, Kimberly remembered the key he’d handed her last night. She opened her purse and dug around for it. Kimberly couldn’t help but smile knowing her mother had saved it all these years. It was on the key chain she’d made at camp as a teenager. She leaned over to Alex. “We should probably go check on my mother’s things.”
Alex took the key from her. “We’ll have to figure out a way to do it without being followed.”
Kimberly was disappointed to find the church lobby still very much occupied after they finished the meal. Agents Garcia and Danes sat on the couch. It looked as if they had been arguing. They stopped talking when they saw her, and Agent Danes stood. “Mrs. Thompson, do you have time to answer a few questions now?”
Adam stepped forward. “Perhaps it would be better if we made an appointment to come speak with you. It may have escaped your notice that not only is this Mrs. Thompson’s mother’s funeral, she is quite fatigued.”
Once again, Agent Garcia frowned at Agent Danes. She understood the inappropriateness of their actions. “Does this afternoon at three work for you?”
Kimberly consulted her phone. “Can we make it three thirty?”
Agent Garcia nodded and herded Agent Danes out the door.
Alex looked around before speaking. “We need to empty Kimberly’s mother’s storage unit. I would prefer to do it without the FBI following us.”
“That may take a bit of planning. We had a tail this morning all the way to the funeral,” said Andrew.
“I think I have an idea.” Elle looked around nervously. “They know we only have one car, with tinted windows. It would be difficult to see inside. Assuming they are watching us now, we should all go back to the house. Then, at three o’clock, Andrew and Alex can go with Kimberly to the FBI office. Adam and I can go to the storage unit.”
“One flaw with your plan—we only have one car,” said Adam.
“What do you think Lyft is for? We get a ride to the nearest airport, then walk through and rent a second vehicle.”
Andrew patted Elle on the shoulder. “Two more points for you for a good plan. The FBI is picking us up outside the gates to the community. Chances are that even if they’re still watching, they won’t be watching for whatever car comes to get you.”
“I have one request. Can we return to Chicago tonight?” Kimberly fought to keep the fatigue out of her voice.
Alex put a supportive arm around her. “Whatever you need.” Andrew led the way out of the building and into the waiting SUV. What she needed was a nap.
* * *
Alex sat down next to Kimberly and refastened his seat belt. “You sure you don’t want to go back and lie down? We’ve reached cruising altitude.”
Kimberly reached for his hand and laid her head against his shoulder. “I’d rather not be alone right now.” She closed her eyes.
Alex reached over with his free hand and smoothed her hair. He didn’t blame her. The interview at the FBI office had been frustratingly pointless. Most of the questions were a rehash of the questions she’d already answered. Fortunately, none of the questions pertained to the card Kimberly had received, and so she had not been forced to lie.
Kimberly rubbed his arm without opening her eyes as she spoke. “I’m going to move back to Art House tomorrow.”
“Why so soon?”
“Preston’s parents will come any day now, as will the triplets. Although no one will be crowded in the mansion, I assume the grandparents will want some quiet time away from three babies. Besides, it sounds like I need to be at Art House for the next clue.”
“You should go lie down on the bed. You’ll sleep better.”
“I’m afraid of falling out of the bed if there’s turbulence.”
“We didn’t have any coming out.” Alex countered her argument.
