Cover Story by Rachel Bailey Page B

house to see Dot for some background on Mrs. Brown. Valentina was there as well, having tea, of course, while Anna played with her dolls on the lounge. They offered me a cup of White Earl Grey—organic, naturally—and I accepted, hoping to lull them into relinquishing more secrets.
    “I was sorry to hear about your gnome, Valentina.”
    “Thank you, dear.” Pinched sadness passed across her face before she picked up a platter. “A slice of cake?”
    Food? I was only barely coping with having my sunglasses off. “No, thanks.” I perched on the edge of a chair. “Can I ask you two something sensitive?”
    “Of course, dear.” Dot bustled back in with another cup and poured my tea from the pot.
    “Mrs. Brown at number four, what do you know about her?” I took the proffered cup and saucer and sipped.
    “Oh, Jazlyn,” sniffed Valentina. “Not even her real name if you ask me. Who has a name like Jazlyn? She’s changed it, I’m sure.”
    “Jocelyn, perhaps?” Dot chimed in.
    “Hmm.” Valentina touched a finger to her pursed lips. “Jane? Joan?”
    “And that poor boy of hers!” Dot leaned forward to pick up a piece of cake. “Fancy going through life with a name like Cosmo.”
    “Yes,” Valentina said, “I remember when the boy was born—his father tried in vain to get her to name him something else. The father had a good, normal name: Wayne. But no, she would only have Cosmo.”
    “Hang on,” I interjected. “Isn’t this the woman with a dog named Deefer? As in D-for-dog?”
    Both women tittered before Dot answered. “Wayne named her that and now she won’t come to anything else. Drives poor Jazlyn wild.”
    “And I don’t like to say anything bad about my own neighbors,” Valentina whispered loudly.
    “Of course you don’t, dear.” Dot patted her arm.
    “But,” Valentina continued in the stage whisper, “Wayne’s been gone for two years now, and there’s no other man on the scene, and she won’t say anything about who the father of the baby is.”
    “She has a baby?” I made an amendment to the map in my notebook.
    “She soon will. She’s pregnant, didn’t you know?”
    “No.” Could it be related? Missing father wreaks gnome havoc? Except Davo’s latest information, which eliminated Simon’s Someone Else theory, would also discount a vengeful missing father who didn’t live on the same street. Hmm. Back to Doggie Payback.
    “Tell me, does Jazlyn have a temper?”
    “A little,” Valentina said, plopping her cup back into its saucer. “Why? You don’t think she’s the gnome smasher?”
    I gave them my best TV cop face. “I’m looking at all possibilities.”
    “Oh, no, not her.” Valentina shook her head with finality. “She’d never hurt a gnome on my property, we’re the best of friends.”
    Best of friends? I hated to see what Valentina said about her enemies. Still, Doggie Payback had to be the theory of the moment.
    I excused myself to scout out the photo options of the street gnomes for the staff photographer, promising to check back before I left.
    I wandered down Los Alamos Court. There was a good setup of the Sinclairs’ gnomes off on a fishing trip (they were further down the concrete wall today and in a different order) and another of Valentina’s gnomes: three, clustered around the letterbox, where their comrade had fallen. Suddenly, I realized the gnome that had bitten the dust overnight was one I’d been looking at yesterday. There was a bizarre sadness to seeing his three remaining friends, forlorn and grieving. The sadness surprised me, so I moved on. Quickly.
    I’d heard enough about Jazlyn Brown from other sources, it was probably time I met her for myself. I still had half an hour before the photographer was due. I knocked on her door and waited, listening to the screaming child inside and ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” blaring.
    A dark-haired woman in her early thirties, and in the late stages of pregnancy, wore a flustered expression when