“Did you leave the kitchen anytime?” Luci cut into the flow, her voice still noncommittal.
“Well, Gracie needed to make bathroom. That girl is so sweet. She didn’t flush her panties down this time either…”
“So Gracie was in the bathroom when you let him in?”
“That’s right…” Saffron’s eyes widened. “Let who in ma’am?”
Luci pointed to Stewart. “Him. He’s the one who moved the body both times, isn’t he?”
“Luci?” Mickey didn’t just feel like he’d missed something. He knew it. Pryce looked confused, too.
“It’s the only explanation,” Luci said. “There were only two people in the house yesterday. Saffron and me. I didn’t let him in.”
“I wasn’t here to be let in,” Stewart put in.
Luci looked at him, her eyes wide and calm. Mickey had seen that look before. It was her version of a cop look.
“You’re not Charles Stewart. I don’t know who you are, but you’re not the man who checked in two days ago.”
Stewart almost looked uneasy. “Why would you say that?”
“Well, first off, you don’t have fire ant bites all over your ankle.”
They all looked down. Both ankles, visible because of his sandals, were clean and clear.
“And the Charles Stewart who checked in was meeting someone. He didn’t say who, but I’m guessing it was his brother. Identical triplets are rare, but possible. It shouldn’t be hard to prove you’re all three related with a DNA test. Probably separated at birth, but I don’t think you knew there were three of you? Must have been quite a shock when your dead guy showed up alive.”
Stewart almost nodded.
Saffron glared at Stewart. “Don’t say anything, Artie.”
Artie again? And the housekeeper—again?
It was déjà vu all over again.
“But why Saffron?”
“He had to have someone on the inside. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say it’s not our Gracie. That leaves Saffron.”
The fake Stewart and Saffron looked at each other then looked away.
“I want a lawyer.”
Stewart sighed. “Me, too.”
Pryce beamed at Luci. “That’s my girl.” The look he sent Mickey was—less beaming. “I’ll get some uniforms to take care of these two.”
He left the room. Luci looked at Mickey.
“Now can Louise come back?”
Mickey sighed. Maybe it was better to have the murderer they knew, than some stranger offing their guests. And it might stop Gracie from wanting multi-colored hair.
Pryce returned with the uniforms, who cuffed the two and escorted them out. He looked like he wanted to chew on somebody. Mickey braced for it, but before Pryce could start—a chill filled the room.
Luci was smiling by the time Delaney and Miss Gracie materialized over their heads, then drifted down.
Pryce looked like he wished he’d left with the uniforms.
“What did we miss?” Delaney wanted to know.
“Saffron had to quit,” Luci said, “but Louise is going to fill in until we can find someone else.”
Miss Gracie beamed. “The place hasn’t been the same without her.”
Okay, did she not remember Louise had shot her in the back?
Gracie drifted close. “You need to move on. It was over fifty years ago.”
Delaney looked at Mickey, one brow cocked in a question.
“So, who died? They aren’t going to hang around, are they?”
Luci’s gaze collided with Mickey’s. “If they do, I’ll tell them to go toward the light—though not until after the weekend. They did pay in advance.”
He gave her a look—or as much of one as he dared with her dad looking on.
“What?” Her eyes were wide and slightly wicked. “It’s not like I can refund him his money.”
Later, his eyes promised her. She grinned, then turned to Miss Gracie. “So tell me about your trip. Did you see some cool stuff?”
“Yeah,” Miss Gracie looked around, “but there’s no place like home.”
Deleting Dennis
It was a cold day, not in hell, but in Houston, the kind of day that made her want to snuggle down in her bed and sleep until noon. It was tough being an owl in a lark world. Capri Hinkenlooper didn’t believe in morning, let alone want to face it, but she needed her seriously sad pay, so she rolled out of her rack and made the short trip to the bathroom, where the mirror reflected back her scary morning self. She poked at the bags under her eyes, wishing she could pack them and head somewhere more fun. She sighed. Time, tide and Mose Milton Ducumb waited for no man—or editor.
When she’d done all she could to repair the night’s damage, she retreated to her bedroom to dress for her lack of success. Choosing what to wear for her workplace was always a challenge, but one she was used to. When she’d been shown her cubicle in the aging building a year ago, she’d been surprised and delighted it had this really cool art deco window that basically devoured the whole outside wall. It curved at the top with some vintage scrollwork and gave her a lovely view of a cemetery where—now that she knew better—she mentally regularly buried all hope. Her boss’s office, on the other hand, was in the center of the rabbit warren of a building and completely windowless.
What a guy to take the inside room, she’d thought. Oh yeah, Mose Milton was quite the guy all right—one too cheap to heat or air condition the building. His office was the only one even remotely cool when it was hot outside and the only warm place when a cold front settled over the city like a bitter broody hen.
In what usually passed for winter, her office wasn’t too bad, but occasionally one of those really cold, cold
