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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

''Nice,'' he said and turned his head away before Avery lowered her arm. "A nightgown with sleeves." Again he questioned her. "Since when have you started sleeping in anything, but especially something with sleeves?"

Avery, tired of being put on the defensive, fired back, "Since I lived through a plane crash and got second-degree burns on my arms."

His mouth, open and ready to make a quick comeback, clicked shut. Returning to the last item on the list, he read, "Bra, 34-B."

"I'm sorry about that." Taking the garment from the sack, she removed the tags and refolded it. The bras that had been brought to her from Carole's drawers at home had been way too large.

''About what?''

"Coming down a full size."

"What possible difference could that make to me?"

The scorn in his expression made her look away. "None, I guess."

She emptied the shopping bags, adding the items to the things she had laid out to wear home the following day. The clothes Zee and Tate had brought her from Carole's closet had fit fairly well. They were only a trifle large. Carole's breasts and hips had been fuller, curvier, but Avery had explained that away by the liquid diet she had been on for so long. Even Carole's shoes fit her.

Whenever possible she kept her arms and legs covered, preferring pants to skirts. She was afraid that the shape of her calves and ankles would give her away. So far, no one had made a comparison. To the Rutledges, she was Carole. They were convinced.

Or were they?

Why hadn't Carole's coconspirator spoken to her again?

That worry was as persistent as a gnat that continually buzzed through Avery's head. Dwelling on it made her ill with fear, so she concentrated more on Carole's personality in an effort to avoid making mistakes that would give her away.

As far as she could tell, she'd been lucky. She wasn't aware of having made any major blunders.

Now that departure was imminent, she was nervous. Being under the same roof with the Rutledges, especially with Tate, would increase the opportunities for making errors.

In addition, she would resurface as a congressional candidate's wife and be called upon to cope with the problems associated with that.

"What's going to happen in the morning, Tate?"

"Eddy told me to prepare you. Sit down."

"This sounds serious," she teased once they were facing each other in matching chairs.

"It is."

 ''Are you afraid I'll commit a faux pas in front of the press?"

"No," he replied, "but I can damn well guarantee that they'll commit some social taboos."

Because he was criticizing her profession, she took umbrage. "Like what?"

"They'll ask you hundreds of personal questions. They'll study your face, looking for scars, that kind of thing. You'll probably have your picture taken more times tomorrow than at any other time during the campaign."

"I'm not camera shy."

He laughed dryly. ''I know that. But tomorrow when you leave here, you'll be swarmed. Eddy's going to try to keep it orderly, but these things have a way of getting out of hand."

He fished into his breast pocket again, produced another piece of paper, and passed it to her. ''Familiarize yourself with this tonight. It's a brief statement Eddy wrote for you to read. He'll have a microphone set—What's the matter?"