Brunhilde’s direction.
Then, like a shot, she leaped off the bed and into Brunhilde’s lap.
Brunhilde’s face turned an interesting shade of purple.
“Get this little monster off me!”
Okay, so what she really said was, “What a cute cat.”
But you didn’t have to be a detective to figure out what she was thinking.
By now, Prozac was sniffing her like a bloodhound.
Hey, blondie. Got any knockwurst?
“Let me take her from you,” I said, scooping Prozac in my arms.
A yowl of protest as I dumped her back on the bed.
Hey! I smelled knockwurst on her breath. Maybe she’s got leftovers.
“Shall we get started with some questions?” Brunhilde asked, pencil poised over her pad.
“Ask away.”
After getting my name and contact info, she got down to the nitty-gritty.
“You know anyone who might have wanted to kill Amy Leighton?
I honestly couldn’t think of a soul who’d want to kill Candace’s mouse of an assistant.
“Not really.”
“What about Candace? Can you think of anyone who might want to harm her?”
Take a number. There was Bethenny, who was furious with Candace for horning in on her affair with Tex. And Dr. Fletcher, Candace’s blackmail victim. And of course, there was always Eddie, the cuckolded husband.
I told Brunhilde everything I’d seen and heard.
“Well,” she said, foraging inside her ear with her pencil eraser, “you certainly are the observant little witness.”
“Actually,” I said, with a modest smile, “I’ve done some private investigating in the past.”
“Really? And have you done this private investigating with the benefit of a license?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted.
“Then I’d advise you to keep your nose out of this case.”
“Yes, of course.”
I barely refrained from clicking my heels together and shouting, “Sieg Heil!”
“By the way,” she added, her eyes narrowed in suspicious slits, “I heard you and Ms. Burke had a bit of a run-in, something about your cat ruining the talent show.”
“It wasn’t a run-in. She told me to take Prozac back to my room, and I did. End of story.”
“No lingering resentment on your part? Some people get awfully sensitive when it comes to their pets.”
“I can assure you I didn’t try to kill Candace.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Ouch.
“Well, that’s about it,” she said, getting up and brushing cat hairs from her tush. “You’re free to go. We’ll contact you if we need you.”
“You mean I can check out of the hotel?”
“Yes. As far as I know, the rest of pageant has been canceled.”
Glory be. I’d be sleeping with a pillow tonight!
The minute Brunhilde left, I started packing. I was busy flinging my things into my suitcase when I heard another knock on my door.
This time I opened it to find Taylor, tears running down her cheeks.
“The police just questioned Mom,” she said, stumbling into the room. “They think she was trying to kill Candace but killed Amy by mistake.”
“Try not to panic, honey. They’re questioning everybody.”
“But they want Mom to come down to headquarters for further questioning.”
Yikes. That sure didn’t look good.
“You’ve got to help!” she cried, wide-eyed with fear.
“You need some emergency M&M’s?”
“No, you’ve got to prove Mom didn’t kill Amy! I Googled you when Mom hired you, and I saw that you solved a whole bunch of murders.”
At last—someone who appreciated my detecting skills.
“So will you help?” Taylor pleaded.
As overbearing as Heather was, I didn’t believe she was a killer.
“Of course, honey. I’d be happy to help.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, throwing her arms around me.
And with tears of gratitude glimmering in her eyes, she added: “I’ll have some of those M&M’s now, if you don’t mind.”
Out in the parking lot, I rolled my suitcase over to where Heather and Taylor were loading their BMW, Elvis peeking out from Heather’s ginormous Gucci purse.
From her
Then, like a shot, she leaped off the bed and into Brunhilde’s lap.
Brunhilde’s face turned an interesting shade of purple.
“Get this little monster off me!”
Okay, so what she really said was, “What a cute cat.”
But you didn’t have to be a detective to figure out what she was thinking.
By now, Prozac was sniffing her like a bloodhound.
Hey, blondie. Got any knockwurst?
“Let me take her from you,” I said, scooping Prozac in my arms.
A yowl of protest as I dumped her back on the bed.
Hey! I smelled knockwurst on her breath. Maybe she’s got leftovers.
“Shall we get started with some questions?” Brunhilde asked, pencil poised over her pad.
“Ask away.”
After getting my name and contact info, she got down to the nitty-gritty.
“You know anyone who might have wanted to kill Amy Leighton?
I honestly couldn’t think of a soul who’d want to kill Candace’s mouse of an assistant.
“Not really.”
“What about Candace? Can you think of anyone who might want to harm her?”
Take a number. There was Bethenny, who was furious with Candace for horning in on her affair with Tex. And Dr. Fletcher, Candace’s blackmail victim. And of course, there was always Eddie, the cuckolded husband.
I told Brunhilde everything I’d seen and heard.
“Well,” she said, foraging inside her ear with her pencil eraser, “you certainly are the observant little witness.”
“Actually,” I said, with a modest smile, “I’ve done some private investigating in the past.”
“Really? And have you done this private investigating with the benefit of a license?”
“Not exactly,” I admitted.
“Then I’d advise you to keep your nose out of this case.”
“Yes, of course.”
I barely refrained from clicking my heels together and shouting, “Sieg Heil!”
“By the way,” she added, her eyes narrowed in suspicious slits, “I heard you and Ms. Burke had a bit of a run-in, something about your cat ruining the talent show.”
“It wasn’t a run-in. She told me to take Prozac back to my room, and I did. End of story.”
“No lingering resentment on your part? Some people get awfully sensitive when it comes to their pets.”
“I can assure you I didn’t try to kill Candace.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Ouch.
“Well, that’s about it,” she said, getting up and brushing cat hairs from her tush. “You’re free to go. We’ll contact you if we need you.”
“You mean I can check out of the hotel?”
“Yes. As far as I know, the rest of pageant has been canceled.”
Glory be. I’d be sleeping with a pillow tonight!
The minute Brunhilde left, I started packing. I was busy flinging my things into my suitcase when I heard another knock on my door.
This time I opened it to find Taylor, tears running down her cheeks.
“The police just questioned Mom,” she said, stumbling into the room. “They think she was trying to kill Candace but killed Amy by mistake.”
“Try not to panic, honey. They’re questioning everybody.”
“But they want Mom to come down to headquarters for further questioning.”
Yikes. That sure didn’t look good.
“You’ve got to help!” she cried, wide-eyed with fear.
“You need some emergency M&M’s?”
“No, you’ve got to prove Mom didn’t kill Amy! I Googled you when Mom hired you, and I saw that you solved a whole bunch of murders.”
At last—someone who appreciated my detecting skills.
“So will you help?” Taylor pleaded.
As overbearing as Heather was, I didn’t believe she was a killer.
“Of course, honey. I’d be happy to help.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, throwing her arms around me.
And with tears of gratitude glimmering in her eyes, she added: “I’ll have some of those M&M’s now, if you don’t mind.”
Out in the parking lot, I rolled my suitcase over to where Heather and Taylor were loading their BMW, Elvis peeking out from Heather’s ginormous Gucci purse.
From her
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