Cross (Alex Cross 12)

I would think she might be at a stage where she’d want to brag about her longevity, but that’s not the case.

Anyway, it’s definitely her night, her birthday week, she says, and she can do whatever she wants. Just like on every other day of the year, I think to myself—and keep it to myself.

It is her highness’s command that “the boys” prepare dinner, and so Damon, Ali, and I take our family car to the market and use up some of the eighty-five cubic feet of cargo space. Then we spend the better part of the afternoon making two kinds of fried chicken, biscuits from scratch, corn on the cob, butter beans, tomato aspic.

Dinner is served at seven, and it includes a nice Bordeaux, even a sip for the kids. “Happy one hundredth!” I say, and raise a glass.

“I have some toasts of my own to make,” Nana says, and rises at her place. “I look around our table, and I have to say that I love our family more than ever, and I feel proud and lucky to be a part of it. Especially at my age. Whatever age that may be, which is not one hundred years.”

“Hear, hear,” we all agree, and clap our hands like those little toy monkeys with the clangers.

“Here’s to Ali, who is reading books all by himself, and who can tie his shoelaces like a real champion,” Nana continues.

“To Ali! To Ali!” I chant. “Way to tie those shoelaces.”

“Damon has so many wonderful options to consider in life. He is a beautiful, beautiful singer, an excellent student—when he applies himself. I love you, Damon.”

“I love you, Nana. You forgot the NBA,” says Damon.

“I didn’t forget the National Basketball Association.” Nana nods his way. “You have a weak left hand. Work on it like a demon possessed if you want to play at a higher level.”

Then she goes on, “My girl, Janelle, is another excellent student, and she doesn’t do it for me or for her father—she does it all on her own, for herself. I’m proud to say that Janelle rules Janelle.”

Then Nana sits down, and we’re all a little surprised, but especially me, since I didn’t even get a mention. I didn’t even know I was in her doghouse until now.

Then she pops up again with a sly smile spread across her small, angular face. “Oh, I almost forgot someone.

“Alex has made the most profound changes of anyone this year, and we all know how hard it is for that man to change. He has his practice again and is giving of himself to others. Working in the kitchen at St. A’s too, though it’s hard to get him going in my kitchen.”

“Who cooked this dinner?”

“The boys did a splendid job, all of you. I’m so proud of our family, and I know that I’m repeating myself. Alex, I’m very proud of you. You are a puzzle. But you are a constant delight to me. You always have been. God bless the Crosses.”

“God bless the Crosses!” we agree in unison.

Later that night I put Ali down as I usually do lately, and I stay in his bed for a few extra minutes. The boy has had a big day, and he goes right off.

Then the phone sounds like an alarm, and I jump up and hurry out into the hall. I grab it off the wobbly stand.

“Cross family residence,” I answer, in the spirit of the day.

“There’s been a murder,” I hear, and my stomach falls.

I pause a beat before I say anything. “Why are you calling me?” I ask.

“Because you’re Dr. Cross, and I’m the murderer.”

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to Fern Galperin and Mary Jordan for their assistance with the research; and to Chris Tebbetts, who added research and helped draft a section of the story. And finally, Steve Bowen, who is slowly getting Ho

llywood to see the obvious, no easy task.

Alex Cross is being targeted by two psychopathic killers.

For an excerpt from the next Alex Cross novel,

turn the page.