LITMIR.BIZ

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he wants. Within reason, of course. Tell him I’ll negotiate.”

      Brent Mayfair had been a mediocre student but a sweet kid, always anxious to include everyone in whatever class project we had going on at the moment. No one had had a bad word for him, except for the football coach, and even then it was full of regret.

      “That kid is built like a Mack truck, but he’s got instincts like a teddy bear made from marshmallow,” Coach Freeman had said. “I’d love to have him on the team. Heck, he’d be able to run over every last player out there, but he won’t do it. I’ve started calling him ‘Ferdinand’ because he’s too nice.”

      I’d been with a group of teachers standing on the edge of the football field before the season’s first game, talking about the various players and just how far they’d go. Everyone agreed with Coach’s assessment of Brent, though, and I was secretly glad. I really hated it when my student athletes got injured and had to miss school, which to me meant missed assignments and falling grades.

      “Gwen? Snap out of it and call the boy already.” Nora’s words broke into my reverie and I was happy to hear the typical brusqueness back in her voice. She’d clearly recovered from finding Linda’s body in her kitchen. Or maybe it was the prospect of a) making more money and b) bossing someone else around. “We need to get this pet sitting business up and running.”

      “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” I snapped off a salute with one hand while tapping in Brent’s cell phone number with the other.

      “This is Brent’s phone. Leave a message.”

      I held the cell phone away from my ear and turned to Nora, still trying to push the ferrety hairpiece farther under the couch with her foot. “He’s not answering. Should I leave a message?”

      “Yep. And tell him not to call you while he’s driving.”

      I rolled my eyes at her words. “I think he’s smarter than that. Besides, I saw a hands-free device in his ear.”

      “Oh, fabulous. That means he will call you while he’s driving. Well, keep your ears open for the sound of a pile-up out there. That’ll be the kid.”

      Hoping his voicemail hadn’t picked up Nora’s commentary, I said brightly into the phone, “Brent, it’s Miss Franklin calling. Could you please call me back at…”

      I broke off with a squawk as someone began speaking in my ear.

      “Miss F? This is Brent. Did I really sound like an answering machine?”

      I closed my eyes and slumped back against the couch’s cushioned back. “Very funny, Brent, very funny.”

      “I do that so I can see who’s on the line.” Had the boy no concept of how voicemail worked? Knowing Brent, it was entirely possible. “So, what is it you need me for?”

      I cringed at his words and nearly corrected his grammar but stopped myself in time. I was retired, for heaven’s sake. Besides, if we didn’t get someone here in a hurry, the newly hatched business was going to die a painful death. Like Linda.

      “Mrs. Goldstein and I would love to have you join us in a new business venture,” I began in a somewhat formal tone that earned my own eye roll from Nora.

      “Oh, give me the phone.” She impatiently stuck out one hand, fingers motioning for my cell.

      I meekly passed it over, glad to let her take care of business. A tremor began in my hands, and when another knock sounded at the apartment door, it made me spring to my feet in alarm, knees trembling. Was this a delayed reaction after finding Linda, or had I overdone the caffeine bit?

      A phalanx of white-suited folks stood there, looking like refugees from a sci-fi space movie. Officer Taylor waved them in, and I watched as they moved across the living room to the kitchen, carrying what looked like oversized tackle boxes and tripod stands.

      “Don’t you dare get my kitchen all dirty,” Nora called after them, one hand covering the cell’s mouthpiece. “My housekeeper will have your hides, I can promise you that.” With a follow-up glare that made Officer Reinhart start and then scuttle after them to the relative safety of the kitchen, Nora sighed and went back to her conversation with Brent.

      “Don’t wear anything too good, but make sure you comb that rat’s nest hair of yours. And wear a tie.” After delivering that last order, she stabbed the “end” button and handed the phone back to me.

      “A tie? Whatever for?” I glanced at the cell’s screen to make sure it was indeed disconnected before slipping it back into my jacket. “He’s going to be cleaning up after dogs, Nora, not serving dinner. At least I hope not,” I added with a shudder and a slightly queasy feeling. Sometimes words made pictures in my head that needed no further exploration.

      “Don’t be silly.” I could tell her heart wasn’t in the rebuke. Instead, she was already on her feet, peeking around Officer Taylor’s bulk as she tried to see what was happening. “You there! The one in white. No, not you, the other one. Get that tripod off my counter this minute! I prepare my food there, young man. Would you want me to go to your house and start putting foreign objects all over your counters?”

      There was the sound of shuffling and movement from the kitchen as Nora supervised the Portland Police Department’s forensic team. I sat back against the sofa cushions and watched in amusement as Officer Taylor tried to wrench control from her stubborn hands. Nora in action was always worth a ticket.

      “Ma’am?” He was back in questioning mode, “Are you aware this is a crime scene?”

      She stared at him, head tilted to one side as though she’d just discovered the earth wasn’t flat. I watched the scene unfolding in front of me and wanted to tell the unsuspecting officer he’d better watch his back. I’d seen Nora act just that way right before she’d all but skewered someone with a rapier-like response.

      “Don’t be an idiot, Officer,” snapped Nora. “Of course I know. I found the body, didn’t I?” She turned around and surveyed the kitchen, a smile replacing the scowl. “Now, that’s much better. Would anyone like coffee?”

      I smiled. Classic Nora Goldstein. She used the “carrot and stick” approach with aplomb and got great results as well. I’d have to be careful, or she’d be using it on me too.

      There was the rattle of ceramic mugs as the coffee maker gurgled into life. I could hear someone protesting that the mugs were contaminating the scene, and Nora retorting that “the body is lying on the floor, not my kitchen counters.”

      Amidst all the action, I’d almost forgotten that Linda Fletcher was still in the kitchen. I shivered suddenly and superstitiously mumbled the only prayer I could recall from my childhood. “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die…”

      I was pretty sure Linda hadn’t gotten up that morning with her mind on death. But someone had. And were they after Linda or Nora? And if it was Nora, what was the reason? She might not be everyone’s favorite person—all right, she could be downright abrasive—but her heart was as wide as the Pacific Ocean, and almost as deep.

      And if they were going to come after Nora, they’d have to deal with me as well. With a bracing resolve underpinning my shaky emotions, I jumped to my feet as the front door opened once more.

      Standing there was a woman I’d never seen. She was dressed as if going to a fancy party, even though it wasn’t quite noon, a pair of ankle-breaking stilettos on her feet and an ermine coat sliding from a pair of very bony shoulders. And when she opened her mouth to speak, I nearly fell back onto the sofa in shock.

      “Oh, my God! I just heard! My stepmama’s dead!”

      Stepmama? Dead? Judging by the astonishment on Nora’s face, this was news to her as well.

      “Officer, could you help me a moment? Someone just let an entire batch of crazy into my apartment.” Nora was glaring at the woman, hands on hips as she blocked the apartment’s doorway.

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