floor near her. She immediately sat on the towel and rooted around for a couple of moments to get comfortable.
I sat on my bed and kept thinking. If Mr. Fitzgerald, Norman as Morehouse had called him, parked a couple of blocks away, maybe he didn’t want it to be obvious that he was stopping by.
But it wasn’t dark then. If he really wanted to be low key he would have come later. Maybe he was walking by and realized someone was following him and came onto the porch looking for help.
I put my hand over my mouth. Would he be alive if I had been home?
There was a knock at the front door and I jumped. I stood slowly and peered out the front window. Aunt Madge was standing there with a shoe box. Jazz!
I opened the door quickly.
She stooped and opened the box and Jazz ran out. She looked around the room and ran into my bedroom.
“She’s been in almost a panic. She chased Miss Piggy to the third floor, and the dogs know not to go up there.”
“Wow.” My eyes had followed Jazz and returned to Aunt Madge. “I wasn’t going to use that door for awhile.”
“I thought you’d say that. There’s police tape around the swing but not on the stairs. It’s like riding a bicycle.” She sat her purse on the small table by the front door.
“What? Oh. I get it. Well, I hated riding a bike.”
She shook her head slightly and looked around the room. “Looks the same.” She sat at my small dinette table and I sat next to her.
“They don’t think anyone came in,” I said.
“What could he have been doing here?” she mused. “If I remember correctly, Norman’s cousin or someone used to live here.”
“I think he said his mother’s cousin, and about thirty years ago.”
“That makes more sense. She was quite a bit older than we are.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald was about your age? I thought he was older.”
“You’re buttering me up.” She patted my knee. “I know you’ll be fine in a day or so, but are you sure you want to stay here tonight?”
“Scoobie went to get some books, and then he’s coming back.” When she looked relieved, I added, “But why would he be here today?” Aunt Madge always knows. I stared at her.
She shook her head. “Norman was outgoing in some ways. You’d have to be to get in front of a crowd all the time. But in his own way he was a very private person. I don’t even think he went to St. Anthony’s all that much.”
Scoobie walked in as she was finishing her sentence. “Bet he wished he did when he got to the Pearly Gates.”
“Ugh.” I screwed up my nose at him.
Aunt Madge frowned, and then shook a finger lightly at Scoobie.
“Sorry,” he said, and placed his pile of books on the couch. “You doing okay, Madge?”
“Yes, Adam, thanks.” Aunt Madge is the only one who calls Scoobie Adam. “Now that you’re here, I’ll head home.” She pulled a tooth brush out of the side pocket of her purse. “I was actually going to offer to stay over if you needed me.”
IT WAS ELEVEN o’clock and my eyes were closing as I read Sue Grafton’s latest novel. Usually I stay up half the night with her books, which told me I was more tired than a boardwalk carnival worker on Memorial Day weekend.
Scoobie had shut the door to the other bedroom so Pebbles would stop wandering in. I got out of bed to turn out the light, and noticed that Jazz seemed to be fascinated with something near the bottom of the chest of drawers. There was a tiny corner of a piece of paper sticking out from behind the chest of drawers and she was trying to paw it out.
I stooped to pick it up and had to fight her for it. When I finally had it, I saw that it was Norman Fitzgerald’s business card, and my address was written on the back. It was a couple of seconds before I realized that the person who had killed Mr. Fitzgerald must have been in my house. I sat on the edge of the bed and then lay back and looked at the ceiling. After a few seconds Jazz jumped on the bed and stuck her nose on
I sat on my bed and kept thinking. If Mr. Fitzgerald, Norman as Morehouse had called him, parked a couple of blocks away, maybe he didn’t want it to be obvious that he was stopping by.
But it wasn’t dark then. If he really wanted to be low key he would have come later. Maybe he was walking by and realized someone was following him and came onto the porch looking for help.
I put my hand over my mouth. Would he be alive if I had been home?
There was a knock at the front door and I jumped. I stood slowly and peered out the front window. Aunt Madge was standing there with a shoe box. Jazz!
I opened the door quickly.
She stooped and opened the box and Jazz ran out. She looked around the room and ran into my bedroom.
“She’s been in almost a panic. She chased Miss Piggy to the third floor, and the dogs know not to go up there.”
“Wow.” My eyes had followed Jazz and returned to Aunt Madge. “I wasn’t going to use that door for awhile.”
“I thought you’d say that. There’s police tape around the swing but not on the stairs. It’s like riding a bicycle.” She sat her purse on the small table by the front door.
“What? Oh. I get it. Well, I hated riding a bike.”
She shook her head slightly and looked around the room. “Looks the same.” She sat at my small dinette table and I sat next to her.
“They don’t think anyone came in,” I said.
“What could he have been doing here?” she mused. “If I remember correctly, Norman’s cousin or someone used to live here.”
“I think he said his mother’s cousin, and about thirty years ago.”
“That makes more sense. She was quite a bit older than we are.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald was about your age? I thought he was older.”
“You’re buttering me up.” She patted my knee. “I know you’ll be fine in a day or so, but are you sure you want to stay here tonight?”
“Scoobie went to get some books, and then he’s coming back.” When she looked relieved, I added, “But why would he be here today?” Aunt Madge always knows. I stared at her.
She shook her head. “Norman was outgoing in some ways. You’d have to be to get in front of a crowd all the time. But in his own way he was a very private person. I don’t even think he went to St. Anthony’s all that much.”
Scoobie walked in as she was finishing her sentence. “Bet he wished he did when he got to the Pearly Gates.”
“Ugh.” I screwed up my nose at him.
Aunt Madge frowned, and then shook a finger lightly at Scoobie.
“Sorry,” he said, and placed his pile of books on the couch. “You doing okay, Madge?”
“Yes, Adam, thanks.” Aunt Madge is the only one who calls Scoobie Adam. “Now that you’re here, I’ll head home.” She pulled a tooth brush out of the side pocket of her purse. “I was actually going to offer to stay over if you needed me.”
IT WAS ELEVEN o’clock and my eyes were closing as I read Sue Grafton’s latest novel. Usually I stay up half the night with her books, which told me I was more tired than a boardwalk carnival worker on Memorial Day weekend.
Scoobie had shut the door to the other bedroom so Pebbles would stop wandering in. I got out of bed to turn out the light, and noticed that Jazz seemed to be fascinated with something near the bottom of the chest of drawers. There was a tiny corner of a piece of paper sticking out from behind the chest of drawers and she was trying to paw it out.
I stooped to pick it up and had to fight her for it. When I finally had it, I saw that it was Norman Fitzgerald’s business card, and my address was written on the back. It was a couple of seconds before I realized that the person who had killed Mr. Fitzgerald must have been in my house. I sat on the edge of the bed and then lay back and looked at the ceiling. After a few seconds Jazz jumped on the bed and stuck her nose on
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