LITMIR.BIZ

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your friend.”

      What? We didn’t do feelings in our house. I was suddenly overcome by sadness. Poor Twila. My breath caught in my throat. “I gotta…”

      Then Trouble shot to the front door, her whole body on alert, at the same time I heard a noise. Normally, I’d think it was just a wild animal roaming around, but I was freaked out by finding Twila.

      I stood up and my dad said, “Don’t.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed 911. Twice in one night—a new record for calling the police.

      Trouble snarled at the same time the doorbell rang.

      I froze.

      My dad got to his feet to join me and gestured toward the kitchen. It had a window that looked out over the front porch where we could see who was at the door.

      We moved together as he talked quietly to the dispatcher. “We have a prowler,” he said, and gave the address. “Someone’s at the front door. My daughter and I are going to look out a window and see who it is.”

      The person on the phone tried to dissuade him.

      “No, we’re not opening the door,” he explained. “We’re looking from a side window.”

      I tiptoed into the kitchen and pushed aside the curtain to see who was at our door so late at night.

      Detective Norma and the detective who had talked to my dad.

      Great.

      Their police officer ESP must have been working overtime, because they turned together to see me at the window.

      Detective Tough Guy shined his flashlight right at me. “Open the door,” he demanded, his loud voice clear through the window. “Now.”

      * * * *

      Norma must have reined in her partner, because he was scowling but silent when we opened the door. “We were hoping for a little more of your time,” she said.

      My dad started to say, “Sure,” but I cut him off.

      “What does that mean?” I asked.

      “Detective Little and I were hoping to take a look around,” she said. “With your permission of course.”

      Detective Little? I almost giggled. Probably because of nerves, but really, he must get a lot of jokes in the locker room.

      “We got nothing to hide,” my dad said, laying a hand on my arm.

      “To keep the lawyers happy,” she said, holding a form out to my dad, “could you sign this?”

      “And we need your clothes,” Detective Little said, with an edge to his voice that rubbed me the wrong way. “And shoes.”

      I went into sarcasm mode immediately. “I don’t think they’d fit you,” I managed, even though his determined expression was scaring the crap out of me.

      Then Trouble joined in, making an unholy growl that sounded remarkably like “Slytherin!” and dashed straight at him. I grabbed her at the last second in mid-leap.

      Since she was heading straight for Little’s crotch, he let out a tiny squeal and crossed his hands in front of himself before recovering and glaring at both of us.

      “Ms. Summers,” Norma said in a no-nonsense tone. “Hold on to that cat or I will call Animal Control.”

      “Really?” I said, trying to quiet the squirming cat. “You know darn well we are cooperating fully and you threaten my cat?” I took the unsigned form out of my dad’s hand. “We will give you our clothes and you can walk through with one of us present. Other than that, you get a warrant.”

      They both narrowed their eyes at me and then Norma spoke. “We’re on the same side. We’re just trying to catch a killer. So no one else gets hurt.”

      Which just pissed me off even more. “That won’t work either,” I said. “Do you want our clothes or not?” Trouble squirmed in my arms, clearly wanting another try at Little.

      My dad watched me, not sure how to handle his own daughter talking back to the police.

      Norma gave a sigh, as if disappointed in my behavior. She had a lot of tricks in that cop bag. “Could you put your cat somewhere while we talk?”

      I locked Trouble in the downstairs bathroom, where she meowed loudly about the interlopers in her domain.

      Norma explained the process to us, including that she’d have to be present while I undressed to take my clothes and shoes, while Little stayed with my dad. Talk about awkward. I guess Little following me to my bedroom would be even worse.

      My dad led Little to the downstairs guest room, where he’d been sleeping since he got sick. Norma escorted me up the stairs past a wide-eyed Elliott who was perched on the landing, his favorite spying location. “It’ll be okay,” I told him, trying to sound reassuring. “Go back to your room.”

      Norma put my clothes in a large evidence bag, just like on a crime show. “Colbie,” she said gently. “Is there a friend or neighbor you could all stay with tonight?”

      “Why?” I asked.

      She stayed silent.

      “Cause you’ll have a warrant soon, right?” I guessed.

      “You probably want to leave your phones and computers here as well,” she said. “So we don’t have to bother you again tonight.”

      I stared at her, my mouth gaping open, the reality that we were her prime suspects sinking in. Then I realized that with my dad being so sick, I was her real target.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, but she couldn’t possibly mean it. Underneath the surface politeness was a look, more like an energy, that reminded me of Trouble when she’s stalking a bird. “The warrant will include all of your electronics.”

      I waved down the hall. “Take a look now while you can, because you’re waiting outside until you get that warrant.”

      She took a cursory look inside each room upstairs, but nothing screamed I killed Twila Jenkins at her because she turned to follow me down the stairs.

      “All of your investigating is going to prove that I wasn’t even there when it happened, so you’d be smart to consider others,” I said.

      “That’s my job,” she replied.

      I collected Elliott, grabbed the cat from the bathroom, holding on to her firmly, and explained to my dad where we were going. I matched my dad’s slow pace down the stairs from the front porch while Detective Little looked around outside our house with a flashlight. We headed across the street to my dad’s best friend, Annie Quinn’s, house. My dad’s neighborhood was usually very quiet at night, and the police activity had drawn a small group watching from a polite distance on a lawn down the street.

      Just as I stepped off the curb, I heard a “Yes!” from the side of the house. Was that Detective Little?

      “I’ll be over in a minute,” I said, handing Trouble to Elliott, who immediately protested.

      “I won’t be long,” I said. “Pinky swear.”

      I held out my pinky finger, but Elliott rolled his eyes, too stressed to take part in our long-standing tradition. He took the cat and followed my dad, his shoulders hunched over with worry.

      Annie opened the door as they approached. “Come in, come in, my dears,” she called out. Standing at barely five foot, she radiated motherly concern.

      I waited until they all went inside and then walked around the side of my dad’s house. Little and Norma huddled over a white towel in an evidence bag.

      “What are you doing?” I asked, and then I noticed that the towel was stained brown. “Is that blood?”

      Norma stepped forward, as if shielding the bag from

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