Murder Is Binding by Lorna Barrett Page B

driveway circled to the back of the dark house, affording the perfect cover for Angelica’s rental car. She killed the lights and the yard was engulfed by the night. The engine made tinking noises as the sisters waited for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.
    Angelica spoke first. “The woman didn’t have a whole lot in her life, did she?”
    Tricia shook her head. “I wonder if she owned the place or if it was a rental. She probably spent more time at the Cookery than here anyway.”
    â€œHow long are we going to sit here?” Angelica asked.
    â€œGive me a minute,” Tricia said, looking over the darkened yard. Now that they were here, poking around the dead woman’s home seemed like a bad idea—more than that, creepy. Okay, the house was isolated, its nearest neighbor at least a quarter mile in either direction. With the drapes pulled shut there was little chance they’d be seen by passing cars, but just what did Tricia hope to find? A big red sign pointing to a will or an insurance policy?
    Tricia reconsidered their quest. “I think we’d better go.”
    â€œOh, come on,” Angelica urged, “where’s your sense of adventure?” She reached behind her and dragged out the convenience store bag, extracting the big orange flashlight they’d stopped to buy along the way. She fished out the D batteries and filled the empty compartment, switching it on. An ice white beam of light pierced the car’s darkness.
    â€œNot in the eyes,” Tricia complained, putting a hand up to shield her face.
    â€œSorry. Now where’d you say the extra key was hidden?”
    â€œIt’s supposed to be under a fake rock by the back door.”
    â€œRight.” Angelica opened her door, but Tricia’s hand on her arm stopped her.
    â€œBefore we do anything else, here.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves and handed them to Angelica. “I changed my mind. I decided you were right and we shouldn’t leave any fingerprints behind.”
    â€œWhoa. That’s a first. Me, with a good idea? Can I stand the compliment?”
    â€œYou’re making me paranoid.”
    â€œWhere did you get them?” Angelica asked, pulling a glove over her left hand and flexing her fingers.
    â€œThe hardware store. I bought them for a refinishing job I never got around to doing.” Tricia put on her own set of gloves, got out of the car, and marched toward the darkened house. Angelica followed, their feet crunching on the gravel drive. Good thing it wasn’t raining. Tricia didn’t want to track in any detritus and leave any other evidence that they’d been there.
    The flashlight’s beam whisked back and forth around the steps. “I don’t see any fake rocks. How long ago did your little helper say it was that she used it?”
    Tricia went rigid. “I never said it was Ginny.”
    â€œDon’t give me that look,” Angelica chided. “Who else would it be? You don’t talk to anybody from around here except her. I’m assuming she either once worked for Doris or moonlights as a burglar.”
    â€œYes,” Tricia reluctantly admitted, “she worked for Doris for a couple of months before she came to work for me.” She explained why Ginny hadn’t accompanied her on this little expedition.
    Drooping perennials and overgrown grass along the back of the house made it difficult to search for the pseudorock. “Be careful,” Tricia whispered. “Don’t step on the flowers. If the sheriff comes out here again, we don’t want her to know someone’s been snooping around.”
    â€œI think I’ve got it,” Angelica said.
    Tricia hurried over. Using the flashlight, Angelica held back a swath of grass. A little white plastic rock sat sheltered by the greenery. She lifted it up and a fat worm recoiled at being disturbed.
    â€œOh,