“Why would an old lady be wearing lipstick in a hospital?” I asked.
“She’s leaving the hospital, Kropp. A Southern hospital. Jeez! Now make like you’re going to kiss me.”
“Make like I’m going to what?”
“Kiss me! Give me a smooch.”
“Perhaps you should purse your lips, Alfred, as if you’re going to whistle a happy tune,” Nueve suggested.
I pursed my lips and avoided Cinnamon-Breath’s eyes as he applied the lipstick.
“Now that completes the picture!” he said.
“Too red,” Nueve said.
Cinnamon-Breath ignored him. He held a hand mirror in front of my face.
“Soooo? What do you think?”
“I think I look like my grandmother.”
“Grandmother! Perfect! Now out of bed, quick; let’s get you dressed.”
He pulled a flowery purple dress from the valise and laid it on the foot of the bed.
“Can’t we just throw a blanket over me?” I asked.
“We could,” Nueve said. “But the transition to the car could prove difficult.”
I sighed. The makeup guy turned his back, Nueve closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall, and I slipped the dress over my wig-covered head. I asked Cinnamon-Breath to zip me up and he laughed for some reason.
“You’re beautiful,” he said. “Grandma Kropp. Oh wait. I nearly forgot.”
He pulled a pair of white orthopedic sneakers from the bag.
“Oh, no,” Nueve said. “All wrong. It should be heels.”
“She has bunions—that’s the idea,” Cinnamon-Breath said. “And if for any reason he has to run, you wanna see him try it in pumps? Oh, did I say one more thing? I have one more one-more-thing.”
He pulled a shawl from the valise and wrapped it around my shoulders. Then he stepped back and admired his handiwork. “See why the lavender was all wrong?” he asked Nueve. “The rose goes much better with the shawl. How’s he look?”
“Like an octogenarian on steroids,” said Nueve.
“How do we get past the cop?” I asked.
“Uh-oh,” Cinnamon-Breath said, winking at Nueve. “I guess we should have thought of that!”
He picked up his valise and knocked twice on the door. It swung open and he stepped out of the room. After the door closed, Nueve turned to me.
“Do you still have the little gift I gave you?”
I retrieved the poisoned pen from under the pillow and slipped it into the side of my orthopedic shoe.
“Why do I need it?” I asked, following him to the door.
He smiled without showing his teeth. “No, the question is why do you persist with stupid questions?”
“A teacher told me once there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”