sake, Trinket. You didn’t tell her what I said, did you?”
“Since I don’t know sign language, and you didn’t hear me divulge your risky plans, you have to know I didn’t. Are you crazy? Never mind. That was a rhetorical question. I know you’re crazy. Haven’t you ever heard of playing it safe?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. We need to get down to Oxford this morning so the boys don’t end up as suspects.”
I put my hand over my eyes. I don’t know why. Blocking out Bitty is impossible even when she’s five miles away.
“How can they end up as suspects?” I asked her. “There’s absolutely nothing to tie them to the professor other than Clayton being one of his many, many students.”
“One of his students who was flunking.”
“Nobody murders someone because of bad grades, Bitty. I mean, it just isn’t done.”
“Just because it’s not usually done doesn’t mean it isn’t ever done, Trinket.”
She had me there. I uncovered my eyes and looked down at the floor. Brownie sat there staring at me suspiciously. Sometimes I think he understands everything that’s said, and at other times I’m convinced he hasn’t a clue.
“She’s crazy, you know,” I said to him, and his tail thumped once against the floorboards. That encouraged me and I continued, “She convinces herself that danger lurks just behind the next door and gets me all involved, and it usually turns out that we only make it worse.”
Brownie cocked his head to one side and perked up his ears. I’m sure he knew exactly what I meant.
“Who are you talking to now, Trinket?” Bitty demanded. “I can hear what you’re saying about me, you know.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know. I was talking to Brownie. He keeps secrets pretty well most of the time. Although it’s not exactly a secret that you’re crazy.”
Bitty huffed into the phone, and I smiled. If she was going to drag me off into some foolish enterprise, the very least she could do was let me annoy her.
“I’ll be there in an hour to pick you up,” she said after a moment, and I sighed.
“Okay. I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things, but I guess I’d better go with you to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“You mean, from doing something like moving a corpse?”
Sometimes Bitty doesn’t play fair at all.
“Yes,” I said a bit irritably. “Something like that.”
“I’ve got goosebumps of anticipation. Be ready. Oh, and wear something nice.”
She hung up before I could ask her why I had to wear nice clothes. It’s not that I don’t have anything nice. I do. Unfortunately, my nice clothes are not only out of fashion by now, but two sizes too small. I’ve lost weight, but not enough to take me back twenty years. Or twenty pounds. So I ended up wearing a nice pair of slacks and a sweater set suitable for my part-time job working at Silk Promises. It would have to do.
Of course, Bitty disagreed.
She eyed me when I came out of the house and got into her black Mercedes. She calls it the Franklin Benz, since her third husband’s divorce settlement purchased it, and his name was Franklin.
“Is that what you consider nice, Trinket?” she asked after scanning me from head to toe.
“Yes. It is. I don’t want to hear what you consider nice. This will have to do. My jewels are being cleaned, and my furs are in cold storage. In Russia. Besides, you’re wearing a gussied-up pug. Anything I wear is only anti-climactic.”
“I don’t wear Chen Ling. She is my companion, not an accessory.”
“Really.” I returned the inspection, my gaze lingering deliberately long on Chen Ling’s diamond dog collar. “So you say. And yet . . . her outfit matches yours.”
That was true. Along with the diamonds, Chen Ling wore a deep purple velvet dog dress, with a small tulle bow anchored with what looked like a huge crystal bead on the front. She sat in smug comfort in a cashmere-lined basket seat-belted to the middle of the
“Since I don’t know sign language, and you didn’t hear me divulge your risky plans, you have to know I didn’t. Are you crazy? Never mind. That was a rhetorical question. I know you’re crazy. Haven’t you ever heard of playing it safe?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. We need to get down to Oxford this morning so the boys don’t end up as suspects.”
I put my hand over my eyes. I don’t know why. Blocking out Bitty is impossible even when she’s five miles away.
“How can they end up as suspects?” I asked her. “There’s absolutely nothing to tie them to the professor other than Clayton being one of his many, many students.”
“One of his students who was flunking.”
“Nobody murders someone because of bad grades, Bitty. I mean, it just isn’t done.”
“Just because it’s not usually done doesn’t mean it isn’t ever done, Trinket.”
She had me there. I uncovered my eyes and looked down at the floor. Brownie sat there staring at me suspiciously. Sometimes I think he understands everything that’s said, and at other times I’m convinced he hasn’t a clue.
“She’s crazy, you know,” I said to him, and his tail thumped once against the floorboards. That encouraged me and I continued, “She convinces herself that danger lurks just behind the next door and gets me all involved, and it usually turns out that we only make it worse.”
Brownie cocked his head to one side and perked up his ears. I’m sure he knew exactly what I meant.
“Who are you talking to now, Trinket?” Bitty demanded. “I can hear what you’re saying about me, you know.”
“Yes,” I said. “I know. I was talking to Brownie. He keeps secrets pretty well most of the time. Although it’s not exactly a secret that you’re crazy.”
Bitty huffed into the phone, and I smiled. If she was going to drag me off into some foolish enterprise, the very least she could do was let me annoy her.
“I’ll be there in an hour to pick you up,” she said after a moment, and I sighed.
“Okay. I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things, but I guess I’d better go with you to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“You mean, from doing something like moving a corpse?”
Sometimes Bitty doesn’t play fair at all.
“Yes,” I said a bit irritably. “Something like that.”
“I’ve got goosebumps of anticipation. Be ready. Oh, and wear something nice.”
She hung up before I could ask her why I had to wear nice clothes. It’s not that I don’t have anything nice. I do. Unfortunately, my nice clothes are not only out of fashion by now, but two sizes too small. I’ve lost weight, but not enough to take me back twenty years. Or twenty pounds. So I ended up wearing a nice pair of slacks and a sweater set suitable for my part-time job working at Silk Promises. It would have to do.
Of course, Bitty disagreed.
She eyed me when I came out of the house and got into her black Mercedes. She calls it the Franklin Benz, since her third husband’s divorce settlement purchased it, and his name was Franklin.
“Is that what you consider nice, Trinket?” she asked after scanning me from head to toe.
“Yes. It is. I don’t want to hear what you consider nice. This will have to do. My jewels are being cleaned, and my furs are in cold storage. In Russia. Besides, you’re wearing a gussied-up pug. Anything I wear is only anti-climactic.”
“I don’t wear Chen Ling. She is my companion, not an accessory.”
“Really.” I returned the inspection, my gaze lingering deliberately long on Chen Ling’s diamond dog collar. “So you say. And yet . . . her outfit matches yours.”
That was true. Along with the diamonds, Chen Ling wore a deep purple velvet dog dress, with a small tulle bow anchored with what looked like a huge crystal bead on the front. She sat in smug comfort in a cashmere-lined basket seat-belted to the middle of the
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