Insidious
Page 87

Arturo braved the reporters while Cam and Missy walked out of the rear entrance of the hospital into the bright warm California sunlight. Missy said, “I can’t believe it’s only been five days since I ran into you at the market. Look at what’s happened.”
Cam turned and hugged her. No way would she ever tell Missy she’d been in Doc’s crosshairs. “You’re going to be a star, Missy. It’s your time.”
EPILOGUE
* * *
RASMUSSEN MANSION
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON
Delsey punched Rob in the arm and gave Venus a fat smile. “Yes, I’m thinking of forgiving him, Mrs. Rasmussen, but I made him promise if he ever keeps anything from me again, he will bow his head and let me shave him bald.”
Rob touched his fingers to his thick dark hair. “Delsey figures most guys would do about anything not to be bald.”
Delsey laughed. “It started out as my mom’s idea, to keep my dad on the straight and narrow.” She ruffled his thick hair. “Since Rob’s got such great hair, I think the threat might work on him, too.”
Sherlock turned to Dillon. “Nice idea. Maybe we should try that, Dillon. Keep you on the straight and narrow.”
He feathered his fingers through her beautiful hair. “As long as it works both ways.”
Sherlock looked appalled. “Oh dear,” she said.
“Would you shave my head, too?” Sean asked, looking back and forth between his parents.
“I’ll see to it your hair is safe, Sean,” Venus said, and handed him the cookie plate. She added to Delsey, “I rather hoped he would talk you around. He’s got a lot of his grandfather in him.”
“You must tell me about him,” Delsey said. “After all, knowledge is power.”
“Rob’s grandfather was creative, as Rob is,” Venus said. “But unlike Rob, he didn’t build houses, he built a business, nurtured it, gave it every waking hour, made it into an international force. His business, our business, is thriving. It’s your heritage, Rob, as much as it is Alexander’s and your father’s. It is my fondest hope you’ll join us, give working at Rasmussen Industries a try.” Her eyes twinkled. “Delsey, maybe you can help give him a little push. I think a good place to start would be on our development team here in Washington, in the home office. They design and build our new facilities, rehab our current ones. Your father enjoys working in that area, Rob, he could show you the ropes. He’s started his AA meetings. It would help to have you near. And he could help you avoid flattening Alexander when he tries to throw his weight around. What do you think?”
“Yes,” Rob said, “I’m willing to give it a try, Grandmother. What do you think, Savich?”
“Sounds like it might be perfect for you. Try it part-time for a year, Rob, then you’ll know.”
Rob arched a dark brow at his grandmother. “And what does Alexander have to say about it?”
“He rolled his eyes but didn’t offer an opinion. I hope after all the drama of the past week he’ll reevaluate what’s important to him.” She grinned. “If not, he’ll learn.”
Rob rose, sat down next to his grandmother and hugged her. “Thank you, Grandmother. You’ve got a deal.”
“Excellent. By the way, Dillon, I took your advice and hired MacPherson back. He started today, drove Guthrie and me to church. I only wish he’d come to me when he learned how expensive his son’s leukemia treatments would be. He said he didn’t want to be a leech and he apologized for selling that story to the National Enquirer. His son’s prognosis is excellent, so all’s right in his world again.”
That meant, Sherlock knew, that Venus would make certain MacPherson’s son got the best of care. She looked automatically at Sean and closed her eyes a moment. Life was so uncertain at the best of times, and a child was so fragile. “Good,” she said, “that’s good of you.”
Venus looked up. “Ah, Isabel, is our lunch ready? Mr. Paul has prepared the pulled pork sliders for our carnivore guests? And the spinach quiche for Dillon?”
“Mr. Paul wasn’t certain if his quiche would be enough for Agent Savich and suggested he add his tofu dish, food for the gods, he called it.”
No matter if the gods did eat tofu, Savich wasn’t about to touch it. He smiled. “Quiche will do me fine, Isabel, thank you.”
Venus added, “MacPherson loves Mr. Paul’s pork sliders. I believe he’ll be having some for his own lunch.”
Alexander’s smooth sarcasm floated into the room. “Well, the gang’s all here, I see. I didn’t realize Grandmother would feel compelled to feed you when a cup of coffee would have sufficed.”
Savich looked up to see him standing lazily in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets.
Sherlock gave him her sunny smile. “It’s kind of your grandmother to invite us for lunch, in the kitchen, of course.”
Savich saw a flash of amusement in Alexander’s eyes, he was sure of it.
Mr. Paul, resplendent in his white chef’s hat a good foot high, sailed past Alexander and looked down at Sean. “This young gentleman admired my cookies, so I have decided to take him to Rockland Park after lunch and teach him some of the finer points of football—soccer, you Americans call it. He’ll find it far superior to the barbaric game American football.”
Sean beamed, but then he looked worried. “Mr. Paul, is it okay if I wear my Redskins sweatshirt?”
“You may. I will disregard my distress.”
Sean turned to Savich and beamed. “Can I go with Mr. Paul, Papa? Learn the finer points?”
“Maybe we all can go, Sean. Mr. Paul, do you think it’s too late for me and my wife to learn the finer points as well?”
Mr. Paul snapped his fingers. “Mrs. Rasmussen assures me you’re a smart lad. I will try.”
Sean turned to Alexander. “Will you come, too? Or do you still have a pain in the patoot?”
Alexander studied the little boy, the spitting image of his father. “So you’ve heard someone say I’m a pain in the patoot, Sean? It’s true, I am. Ask anyone.”
Sean nodded. “Okay, but what’s a patoot?”