A Premonition of Murder by Mary Kennedy

another window display. The fifties display had gone over well and she was toying with the idea of hiring live models the next time.
    â€œLive models?” I said, astonished. I pulled up a stool at the counter, enjoying the way the shop looked in the early morning hours. The display bins were gleaming, everything was polished to perfection, and the sunlight was slanting across the oak floor. “Do you mean they’ll pretend to be mannequins?”
    â€œYes, exactly! I spent a summer in Atlanta and one of my friends did a department store window display with students from the local college. They didn’t charge much, and all they had to do was hold a pose for twenty minutes.”
    â€œTwenty minutes?” Ali said doubtfully. “I don’t know, that sounds like a long time to me.”
    â€œIt’s not like they have to hold their
breath
,” Dana teased. “They just have to stand still. Look, it’s easy.” She struck a saucy pose, with one hip out, her head thrown back, her hand touching her glossy black ponytail. I was amazed that she was absolutely motionless.
    â€œVery eye-catching,” I told her. “But are you sure they can do it?”
    â€œI like it. Very cute. It will draw in the tourists,” Ali added.
    Dana ignored both of us, kept her pose, standing as still as a statue. She didn’t even blink. I had to admire her ability to focus.
    Barney strolled over and stared at her curiously, probably marveling at the strange antics of his human guardians. He rubbed his whiskery face against Dana’s bare leg and tried to nuzzle her shoe, but she still didn’t move a muscle. Barney looked up at her, puzzled, his brow furrowed. I glanced at the clock; she’d been motionless for a full minute.
How in the world does she do this?
    â€œOkay, Dana, you’ve convinced me.” I clapped my hands, startling Barney, who dashed under one of the candy bins. Both Barney and Scout are rescues, and although they’re socialized, they still retain some feral ways. Loud noises and shouting tend to freak them out, and they run for cover. Life on the streets must have been challenging for them, and I think they have flashbacks from time to time.
    â€œSorry, Barney.” He stuck his head out from under the bin and I reached down to let him sniff my hand. When he cautiously emerged, I scooped him into my lap for a quick cuddle. “It’s okay; everything’s fine,” I reassured him as he began to purr.
    Dana relaxed her pose and grinned. “See? It’s easy. Anyone can do it.”
    â€œI think you’re amazing.” Ali reached for a batch of poppy seed muffins we’d made the day before. “I guess these weren’t big sellers,” she said, peering at them. She lifted out a muffin and tapped it with her finger. “Are these stale?”
    â€œThey’re not stale,” Dana said. “I had one for breakfast. They’re better if you put them in the broiler oven for a couple of minutes, though. And go heavy with the butter and jam.”
    â€œWhat do you honestly think of them?” I asked. “Why didn’t they move?”
    â€œThey’re a little dry, that’s all.” Dana poured herself a cup of coffee and joined us at the counter. “Did you use sour cream in the recipe, Ali?”
    Ali flushed. Guilty as charged. Whenever she tries to lighten up a recipe, it’s a gamble. I remembered her wheat germ–soy cookies from a few months ago. They were studded with currants and looked like ants on cardboard. I didn’t dare serve them to the Dream Club, and we finally fed them to the birds in the back garden. “I tried to do a healthy version with fat-free yogurt. I’m not sure what happened. I wonder what I did wrong.”
    Dana and I exchanged a look. “I think the substitutions are the problem. You know how folks are down here in Savannah,” Dana said apologetically.