Page 67 of A Matter of Pedigree
“What about the other guy?” asked Joao. “The guy Murphy took down.”
“Yeah, the guy who attacked me in the parking garage,” recalled Carole, with a shudder.
“Vlad something, something Russian,” said Connie. “Rom anov maybe.”
“Like the czar?” asked Polly.
“Maybe not,” admitted Connie. “I’m bad with Russian names. Anyway, Jenny said he tried to cut a deal and was quick to say he was just doing what Mitch told him to do, but they’ve got him on aiding and abetting …”
“That’s all?” Carole was disappointed.
“But he was on parole, which he violated, so it looks like they’re both going to be spending some serious time in the slammer.”
“Incroyable,” said Polly, shaking her head. “Quel cauchemar.”
“What a nightmare,” said Carole, translating, wondering how much longer Polly planned to stay with them.
“Very true, but all’s well that ends well,” said Ma, who was taking a Shakespeare class at the senior center.
“I think this calls for champagne,” said Frank, signaling the sommelier. “I want to make a toast to my beautiful, smart wife, who saved my ass.”
“And don’t forget our little dog, too,” said Carole, smiling at her husband.
Frank, busy beckoning the sommelier, didn’t answer.
