The Readaholics and the Falcon Fiasco by Laura Disilverio Page A

habit she’d had since we were in grade school.
    I didn’t know if she meant to reconcile Lola to the idea or suggest we shouldn’t bother since the police had already covered that ground. Her next words made it clear she was arguing the latter point.
    “Besides, what are we going to do—bust a window to get in? We’d end up in jail. I can just see Troy’s face if he had to come down to the jail to bail me out. Or Troy Sr. and Clarice’s faces if they turned on the news and saw me being shoved into the back of a police car. There really would be a murder then: They’d kill me.”
    She shuddered and everyone laughed, but I didn’t think she was kidding. Not much, anyway.
    Maud nodded reluctantly as she took in the logic of Brooke’s objections. “It was just a thought,” she said. She growled with frustration. “Seems to me like friends ought to do
something
for a friend who’s been murdered by some coldhearted jerk.”
    Kerry, who had been silent up until now, spoke up. “I could get in,” she said with a triumphant smile, “without breaking a single window or doing anything illegal.”
    The four of us goggled at Kerry.
    “How?” I asked finally.
    “I’m a Realtor,” she reminded us. “You said Ham wants to sell the house. I call him, offer my services, tell him I need to see the house before we can settle on an asking price, and he hands over the keys. I’ve never been one of thoseambulance-chasing Realtors who are phoning the next of kin trying to get a listing before a body’s buried, but I could do it for Ivy.”
    “Brilliant!” Maud slapped a hand on her thigh. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”
    “I can’t let a whole herd of people tromp through the house,” Kerry said, sounding tetchy. Her arched nostrils flared. “I could lose my license. I have to do this on my own.”
    “What if Ham wants to go with you?” I asked. “How will you search then?”
    Kerry narrowed her eyes in thought. “Good point. You can come, Amy-Faye. I’ll keep Ham with me while you search. We can say you wanted a couple of photos of Ivy to display at the funeral or something.”
    “That’s good,” I said, giving Kerry an admiring look.
    “You don’t think I got to be mayor based only on my good looks and intellect, do you?” Kerry asked wryly. “A certain degree of sneakiness comes with the job.”
    I was glad Maud let the comment go without saying anything.
    We broke up shortly after that, without even discussing the movie. The death of our friend made cinematic murders almost distasteful. We’d have done better, I thought driving home, to delay watching the movie for a few weeks. Maybe our next book should be something lighter; I made a mental note to ask around on some online forums for a suitable title. It was my turn to choose a book since Ivy had suggested
The Maltese Falcon
.
    A slight headache reminded me of the margaritas and happy hour with Doug. I downed a couple of aspirin, but I knew they wouldn’t alleviate the sadness I felt whenever I thought of Doug’s upcoming wedding (which I had to do a lot since I had stupidly agreed to plan it).
Snap out of it,
I told myself, brushing my teeth hard enough to make my gums sting.
Get over him, already.
WWKMD? Hm, Kinsey wasn’t much of a role model in the romance department. I’m pretty sure she last had sex twelve or fourteen books back. Okay, then, what would Stephanie Plum do if Ranger or Joe got engaged? Buy tarty lingerie. Blow up a car. Too expensive to be practical for me with my mortgage and barely solvent business.
    I grimaced at my reflection in the mirror and wondered if doing something new with my hair would make me feel like a new me, a Doug-less me. I’d been Doug-less for a couple of years, of course, but my appearance hadn’t changed greatly in that time. Nothing in my life had changed greatly. I lived in the same town. I did the same work. I was still pet-less and significant other–less. I still ate with my parents on Sunday