couldn’t fool me, though. Blake was worried. Big time. Otherwise, he’d be blasting me over my “harebrained” business scheme and how he should have forced me into closing up shop before I’d ever met Client Number Thirteen. However, Blake Elliott wasn’t the sort of guy who rubbed salt in his wife’s open wounds—as much as he probably wanted to right about now.
We huddled together in the booth, watching from afar as Maureen literally plowed through the crowd surrounding Rudy. “That’s one determined woman,” said Blake.
“That’s what scares me.”
Whatever Maureen said to Rudy didn’t go over well. He turned his back on her and immediately began chatting up another woman in the group surrounding him. Three of her together wouldn’t have added up to Maureen. The woman was no more than five-foot-two and a hundred pounds. Her ginger hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and she wore only a hint of makeup. Maureen glared at them both, then barreled through the gathering and stormed out the exit.
“Interesting,” said Blake.
“At least we know Rudy has discerning taste in women.”
Rudy continued chatting with the ginger-haired woman long after Maureen had departed. When his adoring throng began thinning out, he escorted her to the snack area.
“This here’s Veronica,” he said. “We’re going to get us a bite to eat. She’s got a car. You kids can take off.”
Would it be too much if I bowed at Veronica’s Easy Spirit-clad feet? Probably so. But that’s how I felt at the moment. I wanted nothing better than to hightail it out of Linden Lanes, rush home, curl up in bed, and not wake up until the credits rolled on this Wes Craven horror that had become my life.
As it turned out, I barely had time to kick off my heels once we got home, let alone burrow under a pile of quilts. Within ten minutes of arriving back at the house, Detective Menendez accompanied by two uniformed officers, appeared at our door, warrant in hand.
“My computer?” I asked as I stared at the piece of paper she handed me. “Why do you want my computer?”
“It’s part of our investigation into the murder of our John Doe.”
“But I already gave you all my files.”
“Gracie, don’t argue,” said Blake. “Just turn over your computer.”
“But my manuscript—” When had I last backed up my files? What if the police somehow corrupted them? “Is it okay if I copy some files first?” I asked Detective Menendez.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
Ma’am? I didn’t like the sound of that. When had I morphed from Mrs. Elliott to ma’am ? Did they know about Maureen Boland and her missing stock certificates? Had she called the police and accused me of colluding with Not-Sid?
“Gracie?”
Blake, Detective Menendez, and the two officers were all staring at me, the officers stone-faced, the detective with annoyance, and Blake with concern. As for me, my feet had bolted themselves to the hardwood floor of my foyer. I couldn’t produce my computer because I couldn’t move.
“Gracie!” Blake grabbed my upper arms and shook me out of my stupor.
“Okay,” I said, tugging myself away from him. “You don’t need to manhandle me.”
“I was trying to shake some sense into you. Get your computer for the detective.”
“Actually, sir,” said Menendez, “I need to retrieve it myself.”
Blake led Menendez upstairs. I followed behind them, the officers following behind me. “When can I get my computer back?” I asked.
“When our techs are finished with it.”
“Are we talking hours here or days?” I asked.
“Depends what they find.”
“It’s not like there’s anything about Not-Sid that I haven’t already handed over to you.” How many minutes could it take for them to figure that out?
“We’ll let the techs be the judge of that, ma’am.”
There she goes with that ma’am again. Not good.
Blake and I stood in the doorway of our shared office while Detective Menendez helped
We huddled together in the booth, watching from afar as Maureen literally plowed through the crowd surrounding Rudy. “That’s one determined woman,” said Blake.
“That’s what scares me.”
Whatever Maureen said to Rudy didn’t go over well. He turned his back on her and immediately began chatting up another woman in the group surrounding him. Three of her together wouldn’t have added up to Maureen. The woman was no more than five-foot-two and a hundred pounds. Her ginger hair fell in soft waves to her shoulders, and she wore only a hint of makeup. Maureen glared at them both, then barreled through the gathering and stormed out the exit.
“Interesting,” said Blake.
“At least we know Rudy has discerning taste in women.”
Rudy continued chatting with the ginger-haired woman long after Maureen had departed. When his adoring throng began thinning out, he escorted her to the snack area.
“This here’s Veronica,” he said. “We’re going to get us a bite to eat. She’s got a car. You kids can take off.”
Would it be too much if I bowed at Veronica’s Easy Spirit-clad feet? Probably so. But that’s how I felt at the moment. I wanted nothing better than to hightail it out of Linden Lanes, rush home, curl up in bed, and not wake up until the credits rolled on this Wes Craven horror that had become my life.
As it turned out, I barely had time to kick off my heels once we got home, let alone burrow under a pile of quilts. Within ten minutes of arriving back at the house, Detective Menendez accompanied by two uniformed officers, appeared at our door, warrant in hand.
“My computer?” I asked as I stared at the piece of paper she handed me. “Why do you want my computer?”
“It’s part of our investigation into the murder of our John Doe.”
“But I already gave you all my files.”
“Gracie, don’t argue,” said Blake. “Just turn over your computer.”
“But my manuscript—” When had I last backed up my files? What if the police somehow corrupted them? “Is it okay if I copy some files first?” I asked Detective Menendez.
“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
Ma’am? I didn’t like the sound of that. When had I morphed from Mrs. Elliott to ma’am ? Did they know about Maureen Boland and her missing stock certificates? Had she called the police and accused me of colluding with Not-Sid?
“Gracie?”
Blake, Detective Menendez, and the two officers were all staring at me, the officers stone-faced, the detective with annoyance, and Blake with concern. As for me, my feet had bolted themselves to the hardwood floor of my foyer. I couldn’t produce my computer because I couldn’t move.
“Gracie!” Blake grabbed my upper arms and shook me out of my stupor.
“Okay,” I said, tugging myself away from him. “You don’t need to manhandle me.”
“I was trying to shake some sense into you. Get your computer for the detective.”
“Actually, sir,” said Menendez, “I need to retrieve it myself.”
Blake led Menendez upstairs. I followed behind them, the officers following behind me. “When can I get my computer back?” I asked.
“When our techs are finished with it.”
“Are we talking hours here or days?” I asked.
“Depends what they find.”
“It’s not like there’s anything about Not-Sid that I haven’t already handed over to you.” How many minutes could it take for them to figure that out?
“We’ll let the techs be the judge of that, ma’am.”
There she goes with that ma’am again. Not good.
Blake and I stood in the doorway of our shared office while Detective Menendez helped
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