at the same time.
“Guess I’d better take the hammer and get back.” Emery drained his glass, seized two cookies, and stood up. “Nice sitting with you ladies, if only for a moment.” He looked at Bridget. “I’m leaving Mick here, okay?”
“Fine.” Bridget looked into the living room. Mick and Susanna had commandeered the plastic blocks. Moira was busy sticking bristle blocks into Susanna’s doll’s long blond hair.
Emery vanished out the back door, toward the garage and his workshop. Melanie pushed back her chair.
“If we’re through planning Claudia’s birthday party—"
“We haven’t even started.” Bridget barred the kitchen door. “And, Melanie, this stuff about Rita is confidential. No gossiping.”
“I don’t gossip.” Melanie drew herself up. “I was merely planning to mention it to a few people who might know more about the Danceys than I do.” She put her calendar back in her bag. “And what’s left to plan? Claudia’s party, Wednesday night.”
“We’ll have it here.” Bridget scrawled something on her own calendar, a huge one that hung on the back of the swinging kitchen door. “I’ll ask Claudia to dinner. No, I’ll ask her to baby-sit while Emery and I go out to dinner. Then she won’t suspect anything.”
“Do you think a surprise party is wise? Some people really hate to be surprised.” Melanie offered this bit of wisdom just before breaking off another piece of cookie.
“She’ll love it.” Bridget put down the pencil. “I’ll make lasagna and garlic bread.”
“I’ll order a cake.” Melanie whipped out her planner again. “Gotta run, Bridget. Nice seeing you, Liz.”
“I’ll do the salad.” I wanted to do something for Claudia, too. I hated it when everyone acted as if I were too poor to contribute.
“Great,” Bridget said briskly. “Bring a lot. I’m going to let some of the other poets know. They can bring wine.”
The planning was over. Melanie spent a couple of minutes picking the bristle blocks out of the doll’s hair while Moira used her own battered doll to destroy the fort Mick and Susanna had built.
“Liz,” Bridget said, after Melanie had left, catching me at the door. “Come over tonight for dinner. We’re not doing anything.”
“I’ve got to be back at Drake’s by eight.”
“We’ll be done by then. Come at six.”
I knew Bridget was indulging in an excess of mothering, but it had its desired effect. I felt comforted, not alone anymore, even though there was no one but Barker waiting for me when I got back to my house.
Chapter 7
Barker sniffed around the yard, refreshing his territorial markings everywhere. My yard is pretty good-sized by Palo Alto standards. The two houses I’d inherited, much to Carlotta’s disgust, had been on an extra-long lot. Drake’s house had a small front yard that faced the street and a gravel area for parking directly behind his back door. The rest was mine.
It felt funny to be missing Drake. At the time he’d bought the house from me, he’d been no more than the police detective who’d had charge of investigating a murder I’d been suspected of committing.
Now I kept thinking about him while I cleaned my gardening tools and put them away in the garage. I wanted him to call that evening, wanted to know about his father’s illness, how he and his mother were holding up.
But I dreaded his call, too. He had his laptop with him, and I knew he got e-mail from Bruno Morales. He’d probably ask me about Rita’s death. Being out of the investigative loop would make him crazy. And he’d give me a lot of grief for getting mixed up in it. As if there were any way I could have avoided it.
My little cottage may be rickety, but at least I own it free and clear. I fix it up as I have time and money, which is to say, I don’t fix it much. The foundation has settled around the front porch, leaving the steps gently canted to one side. I hoped the porch wouldn’t fall off before I
“Guess I’d better take the hammer and get back.” Emery drained his glass, seized two cookies, and stood up. “Nice sitting with you ladies, if only for a moment.” He looked at Bridget. “I’m leaving Mick here, okay?”
“Fine.” Bridget looked into the living room. Mick and Susanna had commandeered the plastic blocks. Moira was busy sticking bristle blocks into Susanna’s doll’s long blond hair.
Emery vanished out the back door, toward the garage and his workshop. Melanie pushed back her chair.
“If we’re through planning Claudia’s birthday party—"
“We haven’t even started.” Bridget barred the kitchen door. “And, Melanie, this stuff about Rita is confidential. No gossiping.”
“I don’t gossip.” Melanie drew herself up. “I was merely planning to mention it to a few people who might know more about the Danceys than I do.” She put her calendar back in her bag. “And what’s left to plan? Claudia’s party, Wednesday night.”
“We’ll have it here.” Bridget scrawled something on her own calendar, a huge one that hung on the back of the swinging kitchen door. “I’ll ask Claudia to dinner. No, I’ll ask her to baby-sit while Emery and I go out to dinner. Then she won’t suspect anything.”
“Do you think a surprise party is wise? Some people really hate to be surprised.” Melanie offered this bit of wisdom just before breaking off another piece of cookie.
“She’ll love it.” Bridget put down the pencil. “I’ll make lasagna and garlic bread.”
“I’ll order a cake.” Melanie whipped out her planner again. “Gotta run, Bridget. Nice seeing you, Liz.”
“I’ll do the salad.” I wanted to do something for Claudia, too. I hated it when everyone acted as if I were too poor to contribute.
“Great,” Bridget said briskly. “Bring a lot. I’m going to let some of the other poets know. They can bring wine.”
The planning was over. Melanie spent a couple of minutes picking the bristle blocks out of the doll’s hair while Moira used her own battered doll to destroy the fort Mick and Susanna had built.
“Liz,” Bridget said, after Melanie had left, catching me at the door. “Come over tonight for dinner. We’re not doing anything.”
“I’ve got to be back at Drake’s by eight.”
“We’ll be done by then. Come at six.”
I knew Bridget was indulging in an excess of mothering, but it had its desired effect. I felt comforted, not alone anymore, even though there was no one but Barker waiting for me when I got back to my house.
Chapter 7
Barker sniffed around the yard, refreshing his territorial markings everywhere. My yard is pretty good-sized by Palo Alto standards. The two houses I’d inherited, much to Carlotta’s disgust, had been on an extra-long lot. Drake’s house had a small front yard that faced the street and a gravel area for parking directly behind his back door. The rest was mine.
It felt funny to be missing Drake. At the time he’d bought the house from me, he’d been no more than the police detective who’d had charge of investigating a murder I’d been suspected of committing.
Now I kept thinking about him while I cleaned my gardening tools and put them away in the garage. I wanted him to call that evening, wanted to know about his father’s illness, how he and his mother were holding up.
But I dreaded his call, too. He had his laptop with him, and I knew he got e-mail from Bruno Morales. He’d probably ask me about Rita’s death. Being out of the investigative loop would make him crazy. And he’d give me a lot of grief for getting mixed up in it. As if there were any way I could have avoided it.
My little cottage may be rickety, but at least I own it free and clear. I fix it up as I have time and money, which is to say, I don’t fix it much. The foundation has settled around the front porch, leaving the steps gently canted to one side. I hoped the porch wouldn’t fall off before I
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