LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

the two women, stepping between them like a boxing match referee.

      “Sorry, Miss F. I couldn’t stop her.”

      Brent Mayfair, a sheepish expression on his face and a ratty tie hanging from his neck, moved around the woman and headed to where I sat. My mouth, I hated to admit, was hanging open in a most unteacherly—my word, not Webster’s—manner, but Brent didn’t seem to notice.

      “That’s all right.” I spoke automatically, patting the sofa and motioning for him to take a seat. “How did she know where to go?”

      “I guess she heard me ask that woman downstairs where Mrs. Goldstein’s apartment was. And she kinda followed me.” Brent gave his broad shoulders a shrug, straining the buttons of a very wrinkled dress shirt. “And you know me, Miss F. I don’t like putting my hands on no one, especially a lady.” He glanced over where the lady in question was still ranting at Nora as the officer attempted to calm her down, moving her back into the hallway. Judging by the salty vocabulary I was hearing, I was fairly certain the description of “lady” needed to be applied loosely.

      “Anyone,” I corrected him automatically. “And you did nothing wrong.” I gave his arm a reassuring pat. “Would you like coffee while you wait to speak with Mrs. Goldstein?”

      Nora had followed Taylor and the woman, firmly shutting the apartment door behind them.

      “A soda, if she’s got some.” He paused, his grin lopsided. “I’ve had so much coffee today it’s a wonder you don’t hear me sloshing when I walk.”

      I had to take a moment to process this logic. Wouldn’t any type of liquid add to the sloshing? Still, his expression was so hopeful that I nodded as I rose.

      “I’ll see if Nor…Mrs. Goldstein has any.” I glanced over to where Officer Reinhart stood in the kitchen’s doorway, his bulk effectively blocking any entrance. “Or I can ask him to check the fridge. He’s probably not going to let me in there.”

      “Yeah, what’s with all the police, Miss F.? You two been selling drugs outta here or something?” This was followed by a wide grin that crinkled his entire face.

      “Not this time.” I managed to keep my tone light. “Just a visit from our friendly neighborhood cops, checking to make sure the oven is safe to use.”

      “Whoa, that’s cool.” Brent looked duly impressed. “Maybe they need to go to my mom’s kitchen and check on our stove. It’s always burning our food.”

      This kid was too gullible for his own good. He was going to make the perfect pooper scooper for the Two Sisters Pet Valet Services.

      There was a momentary scuffling noise heard from the kitchen and Reinhart moved back from the doorway. The white-suited crime scene folks were packing up and leaving, hauling out the cases and tripods that they’d carried in with them. Brent’s eyes were so wide I was afraid he’d suffer permanent damage to his eye sockets.

      “Wow, Miss F.” He turned to look at me, letting out a low whistle. “They really don’t fool around, do they?”

      “Absolutely not,” I agreed solemnly. “A safe oven is a healthy oven.”

      How I’d explain a dead body when they came to remove it was another issue entirely.

      Thankfully, Brent was out on the first of four dog-walking assignments when the medical examiner’s office came to remove Linda Fletcher’s body. I’d already concocted a story of sorts that focused on the oven angle, but I was glad I didn’t have to use it. My ability to tell a whopper of a lie was becoming somewhat disconcerting, especially for someone who saw herself as a truth-loving, God-fearing, salt-of-the-earth woman.

      “Good work.” Nora turned to me, holding up one hand for a high five. This was an action that always struck me as juvenile, but I dutifully held my own hand up and slapped Nora’s open palm. “You can be the marketing expert.”

      “Marketing expert?” I was puzzled, trying to link telling lies and promoting a business. “As in rhetorical devices?” I was beginning to realize that my teacher brain was having a hard time shutting off. Just how long it would take to return to normal, I had no idea.

      Nora didn’t bother answering. Instead, she walked to the kitchen doorway, shaking her head as she observed the detritus left by the police department.

      “I need to call my housekeeper pronto.” She shook her head some more as she peered around the room. “And who’s going to want to clean up after Linda? I swear, Gwen, that woman is as much trouble dead as she was alive.”

      “Well, don’t tell her. Your housekeeper, I mean,” I added, clarifying my statement. “Or call one of those crime scene cleaning crews.”

      “Or I could ask knucklehead to do it when he gets back.” Nora turned to look at me, a mischievous grin on her face. “You could tell him that’s where you fainted because the oven was so bad.”

      “He’s such a nice kid.” I walked over to join Nora in the doorway. “I hate to keep lying to him just to get him to do our dirty work.”

      Nora snorted. “That’s called being a boss, Gwen. Ever heard of it?”

      I thought about the various administrations I’d worked with over the years and had to agree.

      “Dirty work it is,” I agreed. There was a knock at the door and I headed over to answer it. “And just in time, too. I think he’s back.”

      It wasn’t Brent Mayfair, though. Instead, it was a rather stern-faced plainclothes officer, his badge clipped to the waistband of his immaculate chinos. Behind him stood Officer Reinhart and another cop, a woman with both hands resting on rather substantial hips.

      Flashing his I.D. in a manner normally reserved for fast-paced cop shows, the plainclothes officer said, “Nora Goldstein? We need you to come with us downtown.”

      Chapter 3

      “That’s Nora Goldstein.” I gestured helpfully over my shoulder to where Nora stood, her mouth hanging open. “I’m her friend.”

      “Oh, thanks a lot, friend,” Nora hissed as she walked past me. “Come in, won’t you?” This last comment was directed toward the three officers in her doorway, but they remained where they were, the Three Fates of law enforcement, waiting to spin the outcome for another suspect. Nora gave a great sigh. “Well, can I at least get my bag?”

      While they waited for Nora to retrieve the leather messenger bag she liked to carry, I tried to make small talk.

      I gave the three officers my brightest “end of the year” smile, the one that usually felt like it stretched from ear to ear. They stared silently back at me like a class full of students unprepared for a pop quiz. Well, if it was a test they wanted, I had question numero uno locked and loaded.

      “Wouldn’t it make sense for me to go with Nora? After all, I was with her when we found—found the, you know.” I lamely gestured behind me. “Besides, she’s my best friend. I know she’ll want me there.”

      Still nothing from the three amigos. Maybe they hadn’t studied before showing up. I sighed and folded my arms, waiting for Nora to get back in here and save me from feeling as though I’d been ambushed by an unannounced visit from the principal.

      “All righty, folks. Let’s get this show on the road.” Nora was back, brown leather bag slung across her body, its somber style clashing horribly with the neon spandex outfit she’d changed into.

      The bright blue stilettos she’d put on in place of house slippers gave her another three inches in height and an extra wiggle in the hips. All together, she was going to give the Portland Police Department something to look at. And, judging by the expressions on their faces, the three officers were already enthralled by the Nora Goldstein show.

      “Nora, I’ll go with you, share the load, so to speak.” I detected

Скачать книгу