The Trouble with Murder. Kathy Krevat

he asked her. “You agree with her?” His disbelief was laced with obvious dislike, but this time it was directed toward his partner.

      “Norma,” I said with my voice shaking. “That does not belong to us.”

      Norma grabbed my arm and dragged me toward the front of the house. “Ms. Summers,” she said through clenched teeth. “Please go to your neighbor’s so we can do our job.” She turned around.

      “That’s not our towel!” I called after her, but she didn’t respond.

      Annie must have been watching for me because she opened the door as I walked up her steps. “Oh my goodness. Your dad told me about your friend. Are those police nuts investigating you?”

      “One of them might be,” I said, and followed her inside.

      My dad was already sitting in his favorite chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Elliott sat in the floral love seat, clutching Trouble to his chest.

      “I’m just getting Elliott’s hot cocoa,” Annie said. “What would you like?”

      “Cocoa sounds wonderful,” I said. “Can I help?”

      “Oh no,” she said. “You sit right there by Elliott and I’ll be out quick as a wink.”

      I followed her directions, sliding an arm around Elliott’s shoulders. “It’s going to be okay.”

      He put his head on my shoulder. “Pinky swear?” he whispered, holding out his pinky.

      I grabbed it with my own finger. “Pinky swear,” I whispered back.

      Maybe he was thinking of the time one of our friends at the farmers’ market had been arrested a year before. He’d been selling cookies containing pot at his booth and was caught by an undercover police officer. The arrest of a family friend had scared Elliott, even though it had been a good opportunity for some don’t-do-or-sell-drugs parenting discussions.

      I tried to speak casually. “So, Dad, did you put a towel in the garbage?”

      He looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course not.”

      I smiled, trying for a no-big-deal expression, but it might have been closer to a grimace. “Elliott?”

      He shook his head, his head brushing against my arm. “No. Why?”

      “It’s nothing.” So, if none of us put a bloody towel in our garbage can, then who did?

      Annie called out from the kitchen. “Colbie, you want some Bailey’s in yours?”

      “Really tempting,” I said. “But no thanks.”

      “That’s smart,” she said, as she brought out our mugs. “Best to keep your wits about you.”

      Annie’s home was an inviting combination of country chic mixed with fantasy art. I moved aside a statue of a half-naked mermaid to put down a coaster for Elliott. He took a sip of cocoa.

      “Thanks so much for having us during this…mess,” I said, gesturing across the street.

      “No problem at all,” she said. “I just adore your family.” Then she handed me a business card. “This is my lawyer. Please call him and get advice before this goes any further.”

      Seeing that embossed card made me even more nervous. “Surely the police will figure out we had nothing to do with this.” Even so, I reached out.

      “Of course,” she said as she pushed the card into my hand and then patted it. “But I’ve seen a lot of injustice in my days. Just call him to make me feel better, okay?”

      “It’s okay,” my dad said. “I gotta guy.”

      “No,” I said firmly and turned back to Annie. “I’ll call him tomorrow.”

      My dad frowned.

      “You’ll like him,” Annie said, turning her charm on my dad. “He’s from Boston too.”

      Annie was one of those people who didn’t need much sleep to think straight and volunteered for the Sunnyside Library, Meals on Wheels, and an emergency hotline. She’d been the one who called to tell me my dad was in the hospital and convinced me to move in. And believe me, that hadn’t been easy to accomplish. She could probably convince David Copperfield to reveal how he made the Statue of Liberty disappear.

      It certainly helped that my boss had just warned me that the owner of the apartment building I managed was about to sell and would start using a professional property management company. He gave me a fair shake—offering me a severance package and everything. I put our stuff in storage and moved Elliot and me in with my dad until I could figure out the next step.

      My dad and I had a complicated relationship even before I got knocked up when I was eighteen. My mother had died when I was very young, and he’d never seemed interested in dating someone new. He’d been so proud that I was the first in his family to attend college and could never let it go when I dropped out. It made it hard to visit longer than a couple of hours, even knowing how much he loved Elliott, and I usually left feeling like a failure.

      He reached out and patted Elliott’s leg. “It’ll work out,” he said. “Nuttin’ to worry about.”

      Elliott smiled back, his shoulders relaxing just a bit, and I had to swallow the lump in my throat.