Sarah Booth Delaney 13.50 - Shorty Bones by Carolyn Haines Page B

paintings.
    “So good of you to come.” Lovey Jensen met us with an extended hand as limp and cool as a dead fish.
    “Why would anyone stalk you, Lovey?” I got right down to business.
    She looked around, as if she feared someone eavesdropping. “It may be a party from my past.”
    “A person you did wrong?” Tinkie asked.
    “Whatever do you mean?” Lovey was quick to take offense. “I’ve never done anyone wrong.”
    “Someone who cared for you and you didn’t return the feelings, someone you bumped out of a job, someone involved in a money deal that you and Curtis scammed?” Tinkie wasn’t playing softball.
    “I’m not that kind of girl. Besides, my film career has been over since I married Curtis. I’m nothing more than an obedient housewife. If I disobey, Curtis spanks me.”
    I wasn’t going there. Not for any amount of money. “You left the porn industry two years ago?” I was making notes.
    “Yes, and I was at the top of my game.
The Candy Cane Pole
was my highest-grossing film. Men just went wild for that little elf suit. Go figure.”
    “No jealous actresses after your hide?”
    “Of course not.” She pulled an electronic cigarette out of her cleavage and puffed away.
    “So what makes you worthy of stalking?” I asked.
    She shook her head and fear crept into her eyes. “I don’t know. Curtis and I lead a very retiring life. We’re involved in organizations focused on bringing this country back to God. Instilling obedience in wayward wives and children. Who could argue with that?”
    “Curtis’s methods are a bit controversial,” I noted.
    “So stalk him! I’m just his wife.”
    She made a good point, but not one helpful to our investigation.
    “Look, Lovey, Tinkie and I are going to tail you for a week or so. See if we can find out who’s following you. Could be a secret admirer or something that simple.”
    “Or it could be your imagination.” Tinkie spoke with a smile, but it was a strike at the heart of what she obviously saw as Lovey’s delusions. I couldn’t figure out what was eating my partner. Normally she was the cool, calm, and collected one.
    “It isn’t my imagination.” Lovey showed only calm resolve.
    “So tell us what you’ve seen.” I prepared to write in my PI notebook.
    “Well, last night I was coming home from my dance class and there was a man standing out on the street near the parking lot where I’d parked my car. He was just standing there. I hurried to my car and drove away. This car fell in right behind me and followed me all the way home. If I stopped, it stopped. If I drove fast, it followed. But when I turned into my driveway, it sped away.”
    It did sound like a stalker.
    “Did you get a look at the guy?”
    “It was like an old Bogey movie. Fedora and trench coat. In August. That’s sick.”
    “Maybe he was a zombie,” Tinkie threw in. “You know, no temperature control needed for the dead.”
    I aimed a kick at her instep but she eluded me.
    “Do you think you’re better than I am?” Lovey took the battle to Tinkie’s weak side. Of all the things Tinkie abhorred, it was someone with advantages who looked down on others.
    “Ab-so-lute-ly not.”
    Lovey arched her eyebrows and said nothing.
    “You’re fabulously wealthy. You have more money than I do.”
    “And you’re a hypocrite. You think because I used to make porn movies that I’m not as good as you. That I don’t deserve to be safe in my own home or my town. That somehow what I did for a living has made it okay for someone to stalk me and scare me and maybe hurt me.”
    I couldn’t let this go on another second. Tinkie looked gut-shot. “No, Lovey, that’s not what Tinkie meant.”
    “Then what—”
    Tinkie had regained her cool. “Enough about you. Tell us more about the stalker.”
    Lovey was nobody’s fool. She eyed Tinkie with suspicion. “You’re going to take the case?”
    “Yes,” Tinkie said. “You’re right. If someone is terrorizing you, you