around the room, then the glass tumbled from her grip onto the carpet.
"I need a drink," she said.
Rita started digging through the cabinets, and I put a hand on Grace's arm. "Let's go," I said softly.
After hearing a string of curse words, directed at bottles that somehow had managed to empty themselves, Grace nodded her agreement.
I closed the door behind us, setting the lock as we went. At least Rita would be left alone with her bender, unless she chose to open the door again herself.
Once we were in Grace's car, I said, "I feel sorry for her."
"She brought it on herself," Grace said. Her father had been an alcoholic, and I knew there were still wounded spots in Grace's heart from it.
It was no time to get into a philosophical debate about the perils and causes of alcohol abuse. "At least we've got a new lead. Let's go find Deb Jenkins and find out her side of the story."
Grace got a new address, and as we drove there, I said, "You know, we've got to add Rita Blaine to our list of suspects."
"Why's that?"
"By her own admission, she didn't know the divorce was final when he died. She might have been trying to get her hands on that insurance while she still thought she was entitled to it. I wonder if Chief Martin has spoken to her yet."
"Let's call in an anonymous tip," Grace said. "I'd love to hear him interview her."
"Not even I'm that cruel," I said. "Why don't we leave her alone, at least for now? I have to admit, I'm dying to hear Deb Jenkins's take on things."
Grace parked in front of a condo, then asked me, "Are we still newspaper reporters?"
"I don't see why not. It's worked okay so far."
Grace frowned. "We didn't even need a cover for Rita Blaine."
"No, but I've got a feeling we're not going to be so lucky with Deb Jenkins."
"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
Grace got out of the car, and I followed her lead. Hopefully, Patrick Blaine's girlfriend might be able to shed light, where the ex wife had failed.
Before we had the chance to walk up the steps to Deb Jenkins's house, my cell phone rang.
"Don't answer that," Grace said. "We're doing something important here."
"How do you know this isn't?" I flipped the phone up and saw that the caller was restricted. Who on earth could be calling me from a blocked phone?
"Hello," I said.
"Why aren't you home?"
"Hi, Momma. I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to check in with you after work. When did you start blocking your caller ID?"
I shrugged as I looked at Grace, who tapped her watch.
"Don't get an attitude with me, young lady. You know I'm concerned about your welfare."
"My welfare's just fine," I said. "Is that all you wanted? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now."
"What are you doing, Suzanne? Are you taking unnecessary chances with your life?"
"How would I know if it is necessary or not? I'm with Grace. Would you like to speak with her to be sure I'm all right?"
"That's exactly what I'd like to do."
I handed the phone to my friend. After she put her hand over the receiver's mouthpiece, she asked, "What? Why are you giving it to me?"
"She wants to talk to you," I said.
As Grace said hello, walking a few paces away, I saw a curtain flutter at the house. Someone was watching our comedy routine from the second floor. What must Deb Jenkins be thinking? Maybe it wasa good thing Momma had called. It might give our next interviewee a chance to think about why we were there, and if that kept her off balance, it might be just as effective as alcohol had been for Rita Blaine.
After a full minute, Grace handed the phone back to me. I was surprised to find that my mother was no longer on the line.
"What did she want with you?" I asked.
"I had to promise to keep you out of trouble," Grace admitted reluctantly.
I laughed, in spite of the humiliation of what she'd promised. "Good luck with that. Let me know
"I need a drink," she said.
Rita started digging through the cabinets, and I put a hand on Grace's arm. "Let's go," I said softly.
After hearing a string of curse words, directed at bottles that somehow had managed to empty themselves, Grace nodded her agreement.
I closed the door behind us, setting the lock as we went. At least Rita would be left alone with her bender, unless she chose to open the door again herself.
Once we were in Grace's car, I said, "I feel sorry for her."
"She brought it on herself," Grace said. Her father had been an alcoholic, and I knew there were still wounded spots in Grace's heart from it.
It was no time to get into a philosophical debate about the perils and causes of alcohol abuse. "At least we've got a new lead. Let's go find Deb Jenkins and find out her side of the story."
Grace got a new address, and as we drove there, I said, "You know, we've got to add Rita Blaine to our list of suspects."
"Why's that?"
"By her own admission, she didn't know the divorce was final when he died. She might have been trying to get her hands on that insurance while she still thought she was entitled to it. I wonder if Chief Martin has spoken to her yet."
"Let's call in an anonymous tip," Grace said. "I'd love to hear him interview her."
"Not even I'm that cruel," I said. "Why don't we leave her alone, at least for now? I have to admit, I'm dying to hear Deb Jenkins's take on things."
Grace parked in front of a condo, then asked me, "Are we still newspaper reporters?"
"I don't see why not. It's worked okay so far."
Grace frowned. "We didn't even need a cover for Rita Blaine."
"No, but I've got a feeling we're not going to be so lucky with Deb Jenkins."
"There's only one way to find out, isn't there?"
Grace got out of the car, and I followed her lead. Hopefully, Patrick Blaine's girlfriend might be able to shed light, where the ex wife had failed.
Before we had the chance to walk up the steps to Deb Jenkins's house, my cell phone rang.
"Don't answer that," Grace said. "We're doing something important here."
"How do you know this isn't?" I flipped the phone up and saw that the caller was restricted. Who on earth could be calling me from a blocked phone?
"Hello," I said.
"Why aren't you home?"
"Hi, Momma. I'm sorry, I didn't realize I had to check in with you after work. When did you start blocking your caller ID?"
I shrugged as I looked at Grace, who tapped her watch.
"Don't get an attitude with me, young lady. You know I'm concerned about your welfare."
"My welfare's just fine," I said. "Is that all you wanted? I'm kind of in the middle of something right now."
"What are you doing, Suzanne? Are you taking unnecessary chances with your life?"
"How would I know if it is necessary or not? I'm with Grace. Would you like to speak with her to be sure I'm all right?"
"That's exactly what I'd like to do."
I handed the phone to my friend. After she put her hand over the receiver's mouthpiece, she asked, "What? Why are you giving it to me?"
"She wants to talk to you," I said.
As Grace said hello, walking a few paces away, I saw a curtain flutter at the house. Someone was watching our comedy routine from the second floor. What must Deb Jenkins be thinking? Maybe it wasa good thing Momma had called. It might give our next interviewee a chance to think about why we were there, and if that kept her off balance, it might be just as effective as alcohol had been for Rita Blaine.
After a full minute, Grace handed the phone back to me. I was surprised to find that my mother was no longer on the line.
"What did she want with you?" I asked.
"I had to promise to keep you out of trouble," Grace admitted reluctantly.
I laughed, in spite of the humiliation of what she'd promised. "Good luck with that. Let me know
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