Charlotte sighed. Comfy evening, shot. She cast an apologetic look toward Abby, but the dog was too giddy getting her chin scratched by Darla to care about losing her mother’s lap.
“I’ll change.”
“I’ll die,” muttered Darla.
Charlotte padded back to her room and rooted around her drawers for black clothing. The dark uniform probably wasn’t necessary, but if you can’t beat ‘em...
She returned wearing a thin long-sleeve navy scoop neck and dark gray leggings. Not black-on-black, but she sorted out a plan while changing that involved strolling around the neighborhood and then slipping behind Alice’s house. If they all looked like over-stuffed ninjas, someone might raise an eyebrow.
She found her own lock-picking set and brought it to the kitchen. “Got my picks. Not that you’ll give me a chance to do it.”
“That’s true,” said Darla. “Hangover or not, I still love picking locks. It’s such a rush.”
“Do you have a ski mask?” asked Mariska.
“No. I grew up in Florida, remember? You’re lucky I have leggings. And you’ll forgive me if I don’t greasepaint my face.”
Mariska slapped Darla’s arm. “We should have painted our faces.”
Darla stood slowly. “I’m pretty sure mine’s already green.”
Charlotte said goodbye to Abby and they headed outside.
“Maybe you should bring her so it looks like we’re walking her,” suggested Mariska. “Abby could be our cover.”
“And have her running around Alice’s house once we’ve broken in?”
Mariska grunted. “Good point.”
“Most everyone’s headed for bed anyway. Are you sure Crystal isn’t home?”
“Her car was gone when we checked,” said Darla.
“Still gone,” said Mariska, as they rounded the corner and Alice’s home came into view.
“Good,” said Charlotte, though she wasn’t sure she meant it. It might have been nice to round the turn and see Crystal sitting on her porch. At least she could have gotten back to Abby and her television.
“She’s out whoopin’ it up,” said Darla. “I told you. She’s a party-muffin.”
“You’ve got a lot of room to talk,” said Charlotte.
Darla groaned.
“Everyone look to see if anyone is coming and then we’ll run around the back,” said Mariska.
“Clear!” whispered Darla, looking behind them.
“No one this way—I mean, clear!” said Mariska at nearly full volume. Whispering wasn’t her strong suit.
Charlotte had already scanned the surrounding area and found conditions optimal for running behind the house. Even the neighbors’ lights were off.
“Let’s go.” Charlotte jogged around Alice’s house with her friends in her wake.
With no moon visible and far from the street lights, Alice’s backyard proved nearly pitch dark. Worried she might step on something, Charlotte stopped short and Mariska banged into the back of her. She threw out a foot to catch herself before she sprawled across the backyard.
“Easy,” Charlotte whispered. “I can’t see a thing.”
She heard a squeak and, as her eyes adjusted, she spotted Darla squatting in front of the back door, squeezed between the door and the screen. She’d gone right for the lock and already had her pack in her lap.
“I can’t see,” she hissed.
Charlotte pulled a small flashlight from her pocket and shone it on the lock at the dimmest setting, holding her hand around the beam to hide it from the neighbors’ view.
“Ooh, that’s a nice flashlight for this sort of thing,” said Darla.
Charlotte smiled. “Thank you. It came with my private investigator starter kit.”
“Really?”
“No.”
Darla inserted her tools into the lock. A minute later, they heard a soft pop and she turned the knob.
She stood. “Not my best time. I’m getting rusty.”
“That’s probably a good thing,” said Charlotte slipping inside.
A light in the kitchen had been left on, saving them the decision of turning on a light or working by flashlight. The house felt very different than it had the last time Charlotte visited. Gone were all the family photos, throw blankets and most of the furniture. The walls were bare and riddled with nail holes. The sofa remained, positioned in front of an ancient television. Boxes lined the walls, filled with Alice’s tchotchkes. Other smaller tables had been pushed against the wall and tagged with dots of white and neon orange. It looked as if Crystal might be preparing for a yard sale.
“It looks so sad,” said Mariska.
“It’s like Alice was just erased,” agreed Darla.
“Okay, no time to be maudlin,” said Charlotte. “Mariska, check the pantry. Darla, let’s look around for almond flour. I doubt Crystal was dumb enough to leave a bag of it laying around, but it doesn’t hurt to look.”
Darla clapped her hands together and then squinted as if the noise hurt her head.
Mariska opened the pantry and poked around while Darla and Charlotte systematically searched each cabinet.
“Nothing,” said Darla.
Charlotte shook her head. “Nope.”
“The dried fruit is still in the pantry and all the measuring cups and other things I used. Just how I left them,” said Mariska, beginning to pout. “What if we don’t find anything?”
Charlotte sighed. “It doesn’t make you guilty. You know you didn’t do anything.”
Mariska’s lip began to quiver. “But what if somehow I did?”
“You didn’t.”
Mariska sucked in a breath and moved to a large ceramic jar on the counter. Opening it, she gave it a sniff and then dipped her finger in it. Her hopeful expression darkened again.
“Nothing. Just regular flour. This is what we used. I swear.”
Charlotte wandered towards the bedrooms. “We should check Crystal’s room while we’re here. That’s where people hide things.”
Darla sighed. “Not me. I hide things in the laundry room because Frank hasn’t gotten within ten feet of it since we were married.”
Mariska hurried after Charlotte. “Maybe she kept a diary about how she was going to kill Alice.”
Charlotte stopped and turned to raise her eyebrows at Mariska. “You really think she’s special dumb, don’t you?”
Mariska and Darla both nodded.
Charlotte opened
