Seconds later, the first man stopped short, and then the mark stumbled into him—Bump—and the man behind crashed into him, as if he had no time to slam on the brakes. The mark turned around, his coat sweeping open as he did so—Lift—and then the man in front yelled at him, and then the man behind yelled, and then the third joined in—Toss—to yell at the first to watch where he was going. They fell into a noisy round of argument and apology, circling one another, hands in the air.
Marie closed her eyes. She didn’t have time for this. But she was rested now, ready again. She’d eaten and drunk. She’d even done her hair. She began to rise from her seat before she’d decided what to do, as if her body had known before her mind. The last man to join the do-si-do was the first to break away, and he was stepping toward her. Come to mama. He’d have the wallet. It was as if he were asking her to dance. Why, I’d be delighted! It made her feel young again. Someone else could take the collar, maybe one of the pair who had scooped up Millie. It would be a little token of her thanks, these gift-wrapped pickpockets. It was too much, sometimes. Wasn’t that better than too little?
There would be time to think about that, later on. Now, she had to move—
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The seed for this book was planted when my friend Bonnie Timmerman, a casting agent and producer, asked me about women police officers.
I owe a great deal to early readers, particularly Elizabeth Callender, Meg Burnie, Amanda Weil, and Lisa Micheli. John Lambros and Karen Duffy gave me a house to write in for weeks on end, as did Scott and Kristin Paton, and William Murray. Duff introduced me to my publisher, Jeannette Seaver, and Bill to my agent, David Granger. Thank you twice.
Amy Lippman inspired me to throw away the first fifty pages. She saved the book. Beth Canova made it much better.
My mother, Elizabeth Conlon, and Jane Driscoll provided generous explanations about what it was like to be a pregnant working mother in the 1960s. Mary Cahill was kind enough to relay obstetric information from her father, Dr. John Cahill.
And I am most grateful to Cindy and Jim Cirile for their patience as I tried to tell the story of their heroic mother, Marie.
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