LITMIR.BIZ

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And if you aren’t going to help me with the cleaning, you should probably go back downstairs and do whatever it is you do.” I folded my arms across my chest and affixed my sternest expression on my face, the one that could quell an entire classroom full of rowdy teens. “Now, please.”

      “Fine.” She gave an injured sniff, turning around and heading across the room. “You think you can keep the riffraff out of here by raising the rent, but it still doesn’t work.”

      “If you’re referring to Nora, she isn’t riffraff! And I’ll thank you to knock next time,” I yelled as I charged to the front door, giving it a hearty slam behind her retreating back.

      Feeling suddenly exhausted, I walked over to the couch and dropped down, curling my legs up and closing my eyes. Dealing with bodies and puppies, not to mention crazy stepchildren and the police department, had worn me out.

      I woke to see Nora’s face bending close to mine, a concerned expression in her eyes. Startled, I sat up and managed to bump my forehead against her chin, sending me back against the cushions in a daze.

      “Gwen? How many fingers am I holding up?”

      I opened my eyes, squinting at Nora’s hands waving in front of my face.

      “I have no idea, especially since you won’t keep your hand still.” I struggled back up, this time more slowly, and waited until the room came back into focus. “So, how’d the PD visit go?”

      “Fine.” She shrugged, bending down to unfasten the straps on her shoes as she kicked them off. “That’s better.” She groaned as she sank down beside me. “I swear, I think I’m getting too old to wear those things.”

      “Never,” I replied promptly. “You’ll be wearing stilettos when you’re eighty.”

      “Which is exactly how old I’m feeling at the moment.” She bent over and rubbed her toes, giving them each a tug until they popped. “That’s better. And I need some decent coffee pronto. The stuff they gave me at the police department looked and tasted like last year’s river sludge.”

      “No problem.” I got to my feet and then paused, cognizant of the newly cleaned spot in front of the couch. Should I tell her? No. I headed toward the kitchen. It could wait. I’d let Brent tell her so he could take the blame and the fallout. With that cheery thought, I made a fresh pot of coffee, determinedly ignoring the crime scene leftovers behind me.

      Once Nora had gotten one cup of coffee in her and started on the next, I broached the topic buzzing in my head like a crazed wasp. Why had they focused in on her? Did they think she killed Linda Fletcher?

      “Oh, that.” Nora impatiently batted away my questions. “Apparently, they start with the nearest person to the crime scene, and, since it’s my apartment, that would be yours truly. Believe you me, Gwen, by the time I got finished with those clowns, they didn’t know which end was up.” She smiled suddenly, that mischievous glint I recognized back in her eyes. “I did kinda point out that you were on the scene as well.”

      “Hang on there a minute, ‘bestie.’” I spoke automatically, using the air quotes that usually made me cringe. “I had nothing to do with your little tiff with Linda. If anyone is a suspect here, it’s you.”

      Nora gave a head toss, acting as though the faux rattail was still in place. It made her look like she had a bad case of nervous tics in her neck. “Just returning the favor, sweetie. Now, how about more coffee?” She held out her empty mug, her smile as bright as the sun on a beautiful Portland day.

      Oh, Nora. I had to love the gal. I really did. We might butt heads, but we were fiercely loyal to each another, jealously guarding our friendship against outside disruptions— like a visit to the Portland Police Department.

      She’d come back with a new dose of energy, sore feet aside, and now was beginning to get a good-sized caffeine buzz as well. The woman would be climbing the walls soon if I didn’t rein her in quickly.

      “It’s been a long day for me.” I surprised myself with a wide yawn. “I’m going to need to get some shut-eye soon or I won’t be good for anything tomorrow.”

      “Party pooper,” objected Nora. “It’s only seven thirty. And speaking of pooper, how’d our boy do today?”

      “It’s already past my bedtime.” I stood, swaying slightly. Maybe I did need to see a doctor. I’d heard of athletes getting concussions from tripping over untied shoelaces. “And Brent did fine. In fact, he did better than fine. In my opinion, if we can figure out how to swing it, money-wise,” here Nora gave a deprecatory snort, “I vote we take him on as a full-time employee.”

      “There’s no issue with the money. And I’ll take your word for it since you know him better than I do.” To my amusement, she yawned loudly as well, tapping her mouth with shiny fake nails. “Oh, stop grinning, you. I need oxygen, that’s all.”

      “If that’s what you think.” I reached out one hand and pulled my visibly tired pal to her feet. “Come on. Walk me to the door and lock it behind me, okay?”

      “How’re you going to get home?” Nora let me lead her to the door, her words almost swallowed up by another gaping yawn. “And don’t tell me you’re calling Brent. I won’t be able to rest if you do.”

      I laughed, shaking my head as I stepped into the hall.

      “I’ll walk. It’s not that far, and, besides, I need to sort things out in my head or I’ll be the one not sleeping.”

      “Well, be careful out there. I don’t want to lose my best friend because she gets hit by a crazy Uber driver.”

      “I’ll try to stay on the sidewalks and out of the street, all right?”

      “As if that would make a difference with the kid driving.” Nora smiled at me and I could see the bags under her eyes. Knowing Nora, they’d be designer bags, of course. “I’ll see you in the bright and early.”

      “Absolutely. And I’ll bring breakfast.”

      Her door was already closing, and I waited a moment longer to listen for the sound of the safety lock being turned. Satisfied, I walked toward the elevator, purposely keeping my eyes averted from Linda Fletcher’s empty apartment.

      * * * *

      I managed to combat next morning’s sluggishness with a cup of Organic Sumatra from Portland Coffee Roasters. Dark and perfectly smooth, it provided the figurative kick in the pants I needed after a rather restless night. I flipped on the radio to the local news station, only half listening, as I threw together an easy breakfast casserole to share with Nora and Brent.

      “…helping the police with their initial investigation. Mrs. Goldstein said as she was leaving the police station, ‘If you want to catch a killer, you need to be a little quicker than these guys,’ followed by a laugh. We asked Portland PD if they had a response but so far have heard nothing. Back to you, Brian.”

      I had to smile. Only Nora could get away with saying something that far out, and in front of the media to boot. Of course, only Nora had been targeted by the police at this point. Who would be next? I’d lain awake longer than I’d wanted to last night, despite the walk home, trying to figure out who might want Linda Fletcher dead, or—and this troubled me far worse—who might want Nora dead and had killed her verbal sparring partner by mistake.

      I was still thinking along these depressing lines when Brent arrived to drive me to Nora’s.

      “Good morning, Miss F.”

      Brent’s greeting was cheerful and I answered in kind, trying to set aside my current worries.

      “How did the rest of your day go after you left Mrs. Goldstein’s apartment yesterday?”

      “It was cool.” He pulled out into the road without checking his mirrors or looking over his shoulder. I shut my eyes and held onto the casserole dish as if it was a lifeline. “And guess what? That last lady

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