It’s very late at night.” I was trying to step as lightly as I could on each stair, especially the ones I’d had to repair when I was renovating the house last fall. “Go to sleep. You can brush your teeth in the morning.” So I’m a bad mother, and I promote tooth decay; go ahead, bring me up on charges.
“Did you tell her about the . . .” I couldn’t hear what Melissa was mumbling, but I decided it was best not to rouse her just to finish a sentence.
“Shh . . .”
She shook her head a little as we reached the top of the stairs, and I maneuvered her toward her bedroom. She was getting so big. Why can’t they stay tiny forever?
“Did you tell her about the lady?”
“What lady, honey?”
“The lady who bumped into Mrs. Crosby just before she fell over. Did you tell the detective about that?”
I opened the door to Melissa’s bedroom and lay her down on her bed. “What lady bumped into Mrs. Crosby?” I asked quietly. Maybe I hadn’t heard her right.
“The lady. She walked behind Mrs. Crosby just before she fell, and bumped into her in the back. The lady with one leg.”
Linda Jane Smith.
Nine
Melissa got up late for school the next morning, with just barely enough time to throw on clothes and be at the front door when her BFF Wendy’s mother picked her up. After everyone had gotten up and started the day and Melissa was safely at school, I called McElone. If she wanted to question my daughter, the detective would have to wait until after three o’clock.
But I’ll admit that while I was straightening up before most of the guests went out for breakfast, I was keeping an especially close eye on Linda Jane Smith.
She wasn’t doing anything special, just getting herself together to go out to the café for a muffin and coffee or something, but her every move seemed suspicious to me. Even putting on lipstick (just to go to the Harbor Haven Café?) looked odd.
And Linda Jane seemed to notice me noticing her. “Is something wrong, Alison?” she asked as she was adjusting the shoe on her artificial limb. “I didn’t freak you out when I told you about the leg yesterday, did I?”
“Oh no,” I replied, because in fact, I was not upset by her story so much as awed by it. “You didn’t freak me out. I guess I’m still unsettled because of what happened last night .”
“Yes, an awful thing. That poor woman. I guess when it’s your time, there’s nothing you can do about it.” Linda Jane shook her head, tsk-tsk ed a couple of times, and then headed out for a nice warm breakfast.
My newfound suspicions of Linda Jane were already working on my head—how could she be so casual after she might have done something nefarious toward the lovely Arlice Crosby last night? I wondered.
And then the good little angel on my shoulder asked, Would you be this sure Linda Jane had something to do with Arlice’s death if it hadn’t been Melissa who’d seen something? Little angels can be great big pains when they do stuff like that.
I didn’t ponder that any longer, because ten o’clock was already on the way, and I wanted to make sure Paul and Maxie hadn’t forgotten about their performance in the wake of the eventful night we’d had and the early morning that followed it.
To be honest, I also wanted to ask if they’d heard at all from the spirit of Arlice Crosby. There was so much she could clear up if she was around, and I’d certainly feel better about having invited her if I knew that, after dying, she was still all right.
Jim and Warren were in the library, for once not drinking beer. They were, in fact, having coffee and looking subdued. For them.
“Rough night,” Warren said when I poked my head in. “You must feel awful.”
“I do,” I admitted. “But there wasn’t anything I could have done about it.”
“Well, you could have stopped that kid from bopping her from behind,” Jim said. “You were the closest one, I guess.”
“ What kid?” I, well, demanded. “What
“Did you tell her about the . . .” I couldn’t hear what Melissa was mumbling, but I decided it was best not to rouse her just to finish a sentence.
“Shh . . .”
She shook her head a little as we reached the top of the stairs, and I maneuvered her toward her bedroom. She was getting so big. Why can’t they stay tiny forever?
“Did you tell her about the lady?”
“What lady, honey?”
“The lady who bumped into Mrs. Crosby just before she fell over. Did you tell the detective about that?”
I opened the door to Melissa’s bedroom and lay her down on her bed. “What lady bumped into Mrs. Crosby?” I asked quietly. Maybe I hadn’t heard her right.
“The lady. She walked behind Mrs. Crosby just before she fell, and bumped into her in the back. The lady with one leg.”
Linda Jane Smith.
Nine
Melissa got up late for school the next morning, with just barely enough time to throw on clothes and be at the front door when her BFF Wendy’s mother picked her up. After everyone had gotten up and started the day and Melissa was safely at school, I called McElone. If she wanted to question my daughter, the detective would have to wait until after three o’clock.
But I’ll admit that while I was straightening up before most of the guests went out for breakfast, I was keeping an especially close eye on Linda Jane Smith.
She wasn’t doing anything special, just getting herself together to go out to the café for a muffin and coffee or something, but her every move seemed suspicious to me. Even putting on lipstick (just to go to the Harbor Haven Café?) looked odd.
And Linda Jane seemed to notice me noticing her. “Is something wrong, Alison?” she asked as she was adjusting the shoe on her artificial limb. “I didn’t freak you out when I told you about the leg yesterday, did I?”
“Oh no,” I replied, because in fact, I was not upset by her story so much as awed by it. “You didn’t freak me out. I guess I’m still unsettled because of what happened last night .”
“Yes, an awful thing. That poor woman. I guess when it’s your time, there’s nothing you can do about it.” Linda Jane shook her head, tsk-tsk ed a couple of times, and then headed out for a nice warm breakfast.
My newfound suspicions of Linda Jane were already working on my head—how could she be so casual after she might have done something nefarious toward the lovely Arlice Crosby last night? I wondered.
And then the good little angel on my shoulder asked, Would you be this sure Linda Jane had something to do with Arlice’s death if it hadn’t been Melissa who’d seen something? Little angels can be great big pains when they do stuff like that.
I didn’t ponder that any longer, because ten o’clock was already on the way, and I wanted to make sure Paul and Maxie hadn’t forgotten about their performance in the wake of the eventful night we’d had and the early morning that followed it.
To be honest, I also wanted to ask if they’d heard at all from the spirit of Arlice Crosby. There was so much she could clear up if she was around, and I’d certainly feel better about having invited her if I knew that, after dying, she was still all right.
Jim and Warren were in the library, for once not drinking beer. They were, in fact, having coffee and looking subdued. For them.
“Rough night,” Warren said when I poked my head in. “You must feel awful.”
“I do,” I admitted. “But there wasn’t anything I could have done about it.”
“Well, you could have stopped that kid from bopping her from behind,” Jim said. “You were the closest one, I guess.”
“ What kid?” I, well, demanded. “What
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