was thinking about the state of our house, but I suppose that relates to the murder. Who's going to finish our house? And when? I certainly don't want to stay here long term."
I threw a panicked look at Perry. "I thought you said one night?"
He had the grace to look guilty. "Give or take a week or three."
" No," I said.
" But, Nina, the water line..." Perry said.
" Noooo." I stood up.
" The washer hookup," Mario pleaded.
I stuck my fingers in my ears and headed for the stairs. "I'm taking a bath and going to bed." Even though I knew I'd lie awake until Riley came in.
" Um, Nina?" Mario asked.
" What?"
" Don't use all the hot water, okay? I need to take a shower."
" What's that?" I asked. "You want me to sneak into your room tonight, steal your loafers and give them to Gracie to use as a wee wee pad?"
As if she actually heard her name, Gracie toddled out from beneath the sofa, growled low in her throat at Mario (who still had his feet on the chair), then went back into hiding.
Mario frowned. "I'll just shower in the morning."
" Good choice," I said. "Good choice."
Chapter Seven
E arly the next morning, I left Maria in my canopy bed, threw on my robe and slippers, and scooped up a whimpering Gracie before she left a puddle on my bedroom floor.
The sun was barely creeping up over the horizon as I stealthily made my way downstairs, trying not to make too much noise.
There was just enough murky light coming in the front windows to see that Riley was tucked into a sleeping bag, sound asleep on the living room floor. I tossed a look at the sofa, wondering why he wasn't there, only to realize it was already occupied.
I edged closer. Surely he hadn 't brought his new girlfriend home for a sleepover...
Peeking over the edge of the couch, I braced myself to see the face of the mysterious Layla and nearly jumped out of my slippers to find two brown eyes, hooded with thick unruly white eyebrows staring up at me.
"Mornin', Miz Quinn," Mr. Cabrera whispered.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. He was still there.
"I'd get up," he said, "but my head hurts too bad."
I had questions. So many questions. But first, Gracie. "I'll be right back."
" I'm not goin' anywhere," he said wistfully.
It was a warm morning, the humidity high. I set Gracie on the grass and took a moment just to breathe in the scent of spring. It was a special smell, one full of renewal and hope and...murder?
My gaze had skipped to the bright yellow crime scene tape across the street, which looked as unnatural in this landscape as a prickly pear cactus.
Gracie sniffed around while I stepped over my work boots (they hadn 't disintegrated overnight) and walked the stone path toward the front of the house. Birds chirped loudly as I spotted Brickhouse's car parked in Mr. Cabrera's driveway.
If she was there, what was he doing here?
Or maybe that explained why he was sleeping on my sofa.
But would Brickhouse really kick Mr. Cabrera out of his own house?
I smiled. Yes, yes she would. Absolutely.
Across the street, all the emergency vehicles were long gone, leaving behind the bright tape and a sense of violation. I could just barely make out the fallen tree in the back yard and noted that it had been cut into sections—probably by the coroner's office.
I tried to imagine myself stuffing Joey Miller 's body into that tree hollow and realized that it wasn't impossible. Sure, it would be a struggle for someone my size—or Delphine's—but not too much for someone taller. Like Bear, Ethan, Plum. But with the hollow's opening a good three feet off the ground, whoever had killed him had to be strong enough to lift one hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight.
Dead weight .
I shuddered at the term, but it was accurate.
If Joey had been killed inside the house, someone had to drag or carry him to the tree, heft him up, and finagle him inside the trunk.
The more I thought about this, the more I realized that Joey 's killer had to have
I threw a panicked look at Perry. "I thought you said one night?"
He had the grace to look guilty. "Give or take a week or three."
" No," I said.
" But, Nina, the water line..." Perry said.
" Noooo." I stood up.
" The washer hookup," Mario pleaded.
I stuck my fingers in my ears and headed for the stairs. "I'm taking a bath and going to bed." Even though I knew I'd lie awake until Riley came in.
" Um, Nina?" Mario asked.
" What?"
" Don't use all the hot water, okay? I need to take a shower."
" What's that?" I asked. "You want me to sneak into your room tonight, steal your loafers and give them to Gracie to use as a wee wee pad?"
As if she actually heard her name, Gracie toddled out from beneath the sofa, growled low in her throat at Mario (who still had his feet on the chair), then went back into hiding.
Mario frowned. "I'll just shower in the morning."
" Good choice," I said. "Good choice."
Chapter Seven
E arly the next morning, I left Maria in my canopy bed, threw on my robe and slippers, and scooped up a whimpering Gracie before she left a puddle on my bedroom floor.
The sun was barely creeping up over the horizon as I stealthily made my way downstairs, trying not to make too much noise.
There was just enough murky light coming in the front windows to see that Riley was tucked into a sleeping bag, sound asleep on the living room floor. I tossed a look at the sofa, wondering why he wasn't there, only to realize it was already occupied.
I edged closer. Surely he hadn 't brought his new girlfriend home for a sleepover...
Peeking over the edge of the couch, I braced myself to see the face of the mysterious Layla and nearly jumped out of my slippers to find two brown eyes, hooded with thick unruly white eyebrows staring up at me.
"Mornin', Miz Quinn," Mr. Cabrera whispered.
I blinked, rubbed my eyes, and looked again. He was still there.
"I'd get up," he said, "but my head hurts too bad."
I had questions. So many questions. But first, Gracie. "I'll be right back."
" I'm not goin' anywhere," he said wistfully.
It was a warm morning, the humidity high. I set Gracie on the grass and took a moment just to breathe in the scent of spring. It was a special smell, one full of renewal and hope and...murder?
My gaze had skipped to the bright yellow crime scene tape across the street, which looked as unnatural in this landscape as a prickly pear cactus.
Gracie sniffed around while I stepped over my work boots (they hadn 't disintegrated overnight) and walked the stone path toward the front of the house. Birds chirped loudly as I spotted Brickhouse's car parked in Mr. Cabrera's driveway.
If she was there, what was he doing here?
Or maybe that explained why he was sleeping on my sofa.
But would Brickhouse really kick Mr. Cabrera out of his own house?
I smiled. Yes, yes she would. Absolutely.
Across the street, all the emergency vehicles were long gone, leaving behind the bright tape and a sense of violation. I could just barely make out the fallen tree in the back yard and noted that it had been cut into sections—probably by the coroner's office.
I tried to imagine myself stuffing Joey Miller 's body into that tree hollow and realized that it wasn't impossible. Sure, it would be a struggle for someone my size—or Delphine's—but not too much for someone taller. Like Bear, Ethan, Plum. But with the hollow's opening a good three feet off the ground, whoever had killed him had to be strong enough to lift one hundred and fifty pounds of dead weight.
Dead weight .
I shuddered at the term, but it was accurate.
If Joey had been killed inside the house, someone had to drag or carry him to the tree, heft him up, and finagle him inside the trunk.
The more I thought about this, the more I realized that Joey 's killer had to have
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