Whiskey’s Gone (A Fina Fitzgibbons Brooklyn Mystery Book 3) by Susan Russo Anderson

yet?”
    Lorraine shook her head and wrapped an arm around Maddie’s shoulder.
    Something in the girl’s face flattened and she stared at her shoes.
    Taking her coat and pointing to where we sat, Lorraine said, “Robbie can help you with homework, but first, I’d like to introduce you to our visitors.”
    I kept my mouth shut, just looked into her woebegone eyes while my throat got raggedy and I tried for the wrinkle-free look.
    Cookie studied the contents of her purse.
    “Where’s Robert? He owes me two squares of fudge.” She edged closer to Lorraine, glanced at me and Cookie, and flipped through a magazine on the coffee table before plopping down on the sofa.
    I asked her about the fudge.
    She grinned. “I beat Robert in Monopoly almost every day. Wanna see?” She held out a small book she’d squirreled into the pocket of her sweater. “The scores.”
    I thumbed through it, a notebook filled with smudged writing and cyphers. It caught the mid-afternoon sun.
    “We’ve got some questions for you,” Lorraine said, pushing up her glasses.
    “Not again.”
    Cookie fumbled with her mirror and lipstick, and I watched Maddie beacon in her direction.
    “What are you looking at?” the girl asked.
    “Trying to find my comb,” Cookie said.
    “Just now. You were staring at me.”
    Cookie crimsoned. “No, really.” She paused. “Well, okay, you’re right. I was wondering how often you have to shave your head to maintain such a sleek look.”
    In a quiet voice, Maddie said, “I don’t have hair. Zip-ola. And I won’t ever have hair.”
    The clock on the mantel ticked, and Lorraine’s gaze shuttled from Cookie to Maddie.
    Maddie sidled closer to Lorraine. “So what’s your first question? Do I get a piece of fudge if I answer it correctly?”
    “There are no correct answers,” Lorraine said. “We need to ask you about your mom.”
    Maddie shoved her hands inside her pockets.
    “When did you last see her?” I asked.
    When Maddie didn’t answer, Lorraine pushed up her glasses and waited.
    “Last night. She tucked me in as usual, and I asked her to read Wonder .” Maddie pushed out her lower lip. “It’s my favorite story, but she was reading it too fast, so I asked her to slow down. She gave me a mom look, that’s what I call it, you know what it’s like.”
    I nodded. “And that was the last time you saw her?”
    “Well, I got up for water a little bit later.”
    “And she was still in the room?”
    “Pretending to sleep.”
    “What was she like last night?” Cookie asked.
    Maddie got even closer to Lorraine. If she could have, she’d have disappeared into the couch. “How should I know?”
    Lorraine to the rescue. “She means, was your mom happy, sad, in a hurry, thinking about something—you know.”
    “One of those adult questions, I know.” Maddie shrugged. “She was her usual.”
    There was silence again and I could feel Maddie’s fear. “I was stalling again.”
    Lorraine nodded.
    “I don’t like sleeping in the dark, and Mom was tired. She doesn’t like it when I don’t turn out the light. I’ve got to get up for school the next day, that’s what she says, and she’s got to be at work by eight, and I hadn’t finished my homework. We sleep in the same room.”
    “But yesterday afternoon Robert helped you with all your homework,” Lorraine said.
    “Yes, but … maybe I still had more.” She gazed at the rug.
    “What time was this?” Cookie asked.
    I shot her a look. As if Maddie was into time of day and its passing. I tried to think back to see how much it mattered to me when I was eight, whether I’d even bother to look at a clock, and remembered my gran giving me a watch for my birthday and my mom reminding me every week to wear it.
    Maddie shrugged. “I should have been asleep, but I hate going to bed. And Mom was tired, I know she was. It’s my fault she left.”
    Lorraine held the girl in a fierce hug. “It’s not your fault. Never, ever think