Skirting the Grave by Annette Blair

one, judging by her barely veiled disappointment. A lot like my dad’s badly hidden longing.
    I turned to Werner, and my heart about stopped, because I saw the same look on his face, except he was looking at me. Ack! “Friends,” I said, nodding. “We’re all friends now. You and me, me and Nick, you and Nick. ’Kay?”
    “You sure?” Werner asked. “I don’t like that he hurt you.”
    “All’s forgiven. God knows you and I have forgiven each other enough times.”
    Werner ran his hand through his hair. “Well, that’s true.”
    “We have to talk!” Nick said, looking from Werner to me and back to the detective, narrowing his eyes. “I think that my case and your case have their tentacles around each other’s throats. Upstairs. Now!”
    “You bet,” Werner said, setting me physically aside.
    “Hey!” I called after them. “Wait. Nick, what you just said? Is that code for ‘I’m gonna whop your ascot’?”
    “Why would he do that?” Werner asked me. “We’re all friends, right?”
    “Are you kidding? Is this some show of testosterone for my benefit?”
    “Don’t worry, ladybug,” Nick said, turning on the stairs. “It’s about the case.”
    “Mad, I’ll take care of it,” Werner said, agreeing with Nick, which made me feel a bit better.
    “But I want to be involved in the case, Nick. You said to get proactive.”
    “Proactive in your own special way,” my former boy toy said, he who knew me better than I knew myself.
    Werner nodded his agreement. “Nick’s right. This is preliminary stuff. Doesn’t concern you. Not yet.”
    “The hell it doesn’t!” What the Hermès were they up to? Did they intend to discuss the case?
    Or me?
    Nick led the way upstairs, and Werner followed.
    I slammed my hand on the newel post. “Stubborn idiots!”
    My father chuckled. “ ‘ Daughters are like flowers; they fill the world with beauty, and sometimes attract pests.’ Author unknown. Smart, but unknown.”
    Isobel stood. “Do you give fathering lessons? My dad never said anything half as sweet or clever. If he did, he would have said it at the most inappropriate time.”
    “My father’s an English professor at UConn,” I said. “A quote for every occasion, hey, Dad?
    Aunt Fee, may I have the key to your house? I don’t want to see either of those traitors when they come down. We’re all friends, now, so they cut me out of the conversation? I don’t think so.”
    “I don’t blame you,” Isobel said.
    “You’re coming with me,” I told her.
    My father cleared his throat. “Half an hour ago, you didn’t want to let her into the house, Mad.”
    “Well, call me Groucho Marx, but she said the secret word: Mary Quant. Only a fashionista could have made such an easy statement. Plus she knew the return address on the trunk was this address.”
    “I guess we’ve sort of bonded,” Isobel said. “And I’m glad, because I want to hear more about those two upstairs. They’re both in love with you, boss. You know that, right?”
    My father chuckled. “She knows it.”
    I rolled my eyes. Maybe I did know it, but I wasn’t ready to “hear” it. “Dad, may Aunt Fee sleep here, tonight?” I asked, trying not to grin. “And can you tell my friends, Detective Dickaroo and the Bumburglar, that I expect a full report of their discussion tomorrow?”
    “Sure,” my father said. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
    Watching him and Fee, I chuckled. I couldn’t help myself. “I may be your daughter, but I’m neither dumb nor two years old. You want us out, and fast.”
    Aunt Fee made so bold as to hook her arm through my father’s.
    He blustered, but when she covered his hand with hers, he didn’t protest or remove it. He laced their fingers together.
    I winked at him. “Tell Werner that Isobel and I will see him at the station at some point tomorrow morning.”
    The escalating discussion upstairs made me drag Isobel and her overnight bag out the door. Ten
    Fashion contains the