Chirp(23)

She straightened in her chair. “Well, I don’t like hearing the uxorial duties they exhibit.”

Head cocked, his lips spread into the biggest smile she’d seen since he arrived. Until this moment, she hadn’t thought he had that expression in his emotional bag.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“What?”

“Because of my bad behavior, you used your word, so you’re welcome.”

“Is that another joke?”

“Yeah. A sarcastic one. You’re on a roll, so what else don’t you like about me?”

“You smoke too much and drink too much.”

“Noted. That’s three negatives. Any positives?”

There were a lot of things Blaze liked about him. He was big like her dad, and now that the cats were gone, she liked having another person in the house. And the biggest surprise? She liked talking to him.

“I like that you started washing your own sheets.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure my heart could take many more times of seeing you in that crazy getup when you changed them.”

“You say please and thank you.”

“You go to a lot of trouble. The least I can do is be appreciative.”

“I like the way you look without your shirt.”

Rance choked on his drink. “What?”

“I like the way you look . . .”

He held up his hand. “I heard you. I’m just shocked.”

“Why? Your chest is very muscular and defined.”

“Uh—okay—thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”





Tom Fraser


Tom Fraser parked on the street in front of Helga Scudder’s house, a modest white frame with green shutters and a small front yard. Marigolds and pink flowers he didn’t recognize filled beds on either side of the cracked sidewalk.

Even though he had all the notes from the previous investigators and the police report, he liked to treat each case as if starting from zero. Ask his own questions. Draw his own conclusions.

When she answered the door, Helga was nothing like he’d envisioned. She wore a bright green yoga outfit accenting her emerald eyes. A tangle of long auburn hair, secured in a ponytail on top of her head, made her look like a genie who’d escaped her bottle.

“Come in, Mr. Fraser.”

She flashed him a warm smile, and his heart kicked up a notch. “Mrs. Scudder?”

“Please, call me Helga. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Tea?”

“A cup of coffee would be great.”

“I just brewed a fresh pot. We can talk while I get it.”

He followed her into the kitchen, pulled out a stool at the end of a small bar, and sat. Uncluttered countertops and gleaming white cabinets said a lot about the owner—particular and well organized.

She took cups from a shelf. “So, you’re what? Detective number four?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Helga laughed as she delivered the drinks and took the seat across from him. “That Marla. She just won’t give up.”

“You say that as if she should.”

“Tom—may I call you Tom?”

The tone of her voice stirred something in him. It had been six years since Janet died. He’d been alone too long. He shook away the memory of his wife and refocused. “Please do.”

Helga sipped, then set her cup on the saucer without a sound. “I suspect you’ll be the last. Time’s running out.”

He removed a pen and small spiral notebook from his pocket, then logged her name and the date. “What does that mean?”

“Mr. Montgomery made sure once control of the company passes to his daughter, there won’t be much Marla can do. She’ll lose her place on the board and the salary that goes with it, so she’s desperate.”

Tom swirled cream into his cup. “Maybe you should start at the beginning.”

“I suppose you know the basic background,” she began. “Lark, Grant’s first wife, died in a car accident when their little girl was five. Terrible thing. Happened during a strong storm. Poor child was with her dead mother for almost an hour before help came. Anyway, back to Marla. She came into the picture four years later. Mr. Montgomery was lonely, and she was beautiful—and young. No offense, but most men are idiots when a young woman gives them attention.”

He grinned. Couldn’t deny that. According to background information, Helga was only five years younger than him, and he was already enjoying her company. “None taken.”

“You married, Tom?”

Damn, there was that gut feeling again. “Widowed. You?”

“Nope. Not since I caught him face deep in my next-door neighbor’s crotch.”

He couldn’t help but snicker. This woman had spunk. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, she was younger, too. Sorry, I keep getting sidetracked. At first, Marla was okay, as long as Mr. Montgomery kept pace with her. But then he got sick. The first round of chemo got him into remission, but eventually the cancer came back. The last eighteen months of his life were awful.”

Tom propped an elbow on the counter. “Marla seems to think her stepdaughter had a mental break when her dad died.”