around getting people to spill their guts, and I always end up looking like a lamebrain.”
“Not always,” I said tactfully.
“We can talk about this in a more private setting, but I need to warn you that something’s going to have to change. One of us is going to have to retire.”
I wished more than anything that I could tell him the truth about Daphne and Skyler. He wasn’t angry, but he was decidedly frustrated, as well he should have been— and his remark about past situations had validity. I had done my best to stay out of the limelight, but the media had not always cooperated.
I entwined my fingers behind his neck. “I just can’t talk about this one. Give me a day or two, and then we’ll cuddle on the couch and have a bottle of passable wine. You can choose the movie.”
“Why are you involved in this?”
If only I could have trusted him not to call social services and have Skyler carted off. However, he operated by the book—and sometimes the book was not well written. Miss Parchester had espoused civil disobedience and taken a stand. Surely I could, too, if for no more than another day or so.
“I’m not really involved,” I said.
“And I’m not really Tinkerbell, so there’s no reason to clap.”
“You do have such a way with words. I think it would be best for me to leave before either of us blurts out something worthy of regret at a later time. Daphne Armstrong told me nothing that you and KFAR don’t already know. She said she didn’t kill her father, but I’m sure you’ve heard that. She’s frightened and upset. Is she on a suicide watch?”
“Every fifteen minutes,” Peter said, his demeanor softening. “Is there anything else you should tell me?”
“I think not.”
“You issued a rain check yesterday. How about dinner tonight?”
It might have worked, but he had a habit of inviting himself upstairs and suggesting we engage in adult behavior. When Caron was home, we restricted ourselves to discreet junior high school groping. When she was sleeping over at Inez’s house, we widened our range to include my bedroom. Little did he know someone else would be in said room, albeit in a basket.
“Caron’s still upset.”
He gave me a perplexed look, as if he were a puppy that had been smacked with a rolled newspaper for the most minor of transgressions. “Did I say or do anything the other night? She seemed distressed when she opened the door, and she mumbled something that didn’t make much sense before she scurried down the hall to her bedroom. Has our relationship become a problem for her? Should I try to talk to her?”
“It has nothing to do with you—or with us, for that matter. She’s batding issues that involve her father. Give us a few days, okay?”
“Okay,” he said as he glanced at the hall, then pulled me behind the door and kissed me in a most unprofessional manner. “And you will mind your own business, won’t you?”
“I promise,” I said without adding that Daphne’s impending charge for murder was most certainly my business—and that I intended to get down to it before I found myself with a foundling, so to speak.
Ten minutes later, I parked in front of Secondhand Rose and went inside.
“Well?” Luanne said.
“She didn’t say much, but she swore she didn’t kill him,” I said as I sat down and repeated the brief conversation that had been so abruptly interrupted.‘1 don’t suppose I expected her to say anything else. The baby’s father is named Joey. He did time for assault but is back in town.”
“Now, there’s a clue. Should we open a bottle of champagne?”
“Give me a break, Luanne. All I know is that Daphne was seen leaving the house just before Anthony Armstrong’s body was discovered Her reason for being there didn’t ring true. Why didn’t she simply go by when she knew for sure that her father was away from the house? Adrienne wouldn’t have prevented her from taking a suitcase of clothes.” I began to pace
“Not always,” I said tactfully.
“We can talk about this in a more private setting, but I need to warn you that something’s going to have to change. One of us is going to have to retire.”
I wished more than anything that I could tell him the truth about Daphne and Skyler. He wasn’t angry, but he was decidedly frustrated, as well he should have been— and his remark about past situations had validity. I had done my best to stay out of the limelight, but the media had not always cooperated.
I entwined my fingers behind his neck. “I just can’t talk about this one. Give me a day or two, and then we’ll cuddle on the couch and have a bottle of passable wine. You can choose the movie.”
“Why are you involved in this?”
If only I could have trusted him not to call social services and have Skyler carted off. However, he operated by the book—and sometimes the book was not well written. Miss Parchester had espoused civil disobedience and taken a stand. Surely I could, too, if for no more than another day or so.
“I’m not really involved,” I said.
“And I’m not really Tinkerbell, so there’s no reason to clap.”
“You do have such a way with words. I think it would be best for me to leave before either of us blurts out something worthy of regret at a later time. Daphne Armstrong told me nothing that you and KFAR don’t already know. She said she didn’t kill her father, but I’m sure you’ve heard that. She’s frightened and upset. Is she on a suicide watch?”
“Every fifteen minutes,” Peter said, his demeanor softening. “Is there anything else you should tell me?”
“I think not.”
“You issued a rain check yesterday. How about dinner tonight?”
It might have worked, but he had a habit of inviting himself upstairs and suggesting we engage in adult behavior. When Caron was home, we restricted ourselves to discreet junior high school groping. When she was sleeping over at Inez’s house, we widened our range to include my bedroom. Little did he know someone else would be in said room, albeit in a basket.
“Caron’s still upset.”
He gave me a perplexed look, as if he were a puppy that had been smacked with a rolled newspaper for the most minor of transgressions. “Did I say or do anything the other night? She seemed distressed when she opened the door, and she mumbled something that didn’t make much sense before she scurried down the hall to her bedroom. Has our relationship become a problem for her? Should I try to talk to her?”
“It has nothing to do with you—or with us, for that matter. She’s batding issues that involve her father. Give us a few days, okay?”
“Okay,” he said as he glanced at the hall, then pulled me behind the door and kissed me in a most unprofessional manner. “And you will mind your own business, won’t you?”
“I promise,” I said without adding that Daphne’s impending charge for murder was most certainly my business—and that I intended to get down to it before I found myself with a foundling, so to speak.
Ten minutes later, I parked in front of Secondhand Rose and went inside.
“Well?” Luanne said.
“She didn’t say much, but she swore she didn’t kill him,” I said as I sat down and repeated the brief conversation that had been so abruptly interrupted.‘1 don’t suppose I expected her to say anything else. The baby’s father is named Joey. He did time for assault but is back in town.”
“Now, there’s a clue. Should we open a bottle of champagne?”
“Give me a break, Luanne. All I know is that Daphne was seen leaving the house just before Anthony Armstrong’s body was discovered Her reason for being there didn’t ring true. Why didn’t she simply go by when she knew for sure that her father was away from the house? Adrienne wouldn’t have prevented her from taking a suitcase of clothes.” I began to pace
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