Free The Devil May Care by David Housewright

Or even Kate Hepburn. One of Riley’s classmates told me she refused to watch black-and-white movies. How terribly sad.
    â€œOn the other hand, Riley reads an enormous amount. When she was younger, she’d sneak in here and sit for days at a time reading one book after another. She is a much more serious young woman than she pretends.”
    It’s not possible for her to be more serious than she pretends, my inner voice said.
    â€œMrs. Muehlenhaus, why am I here?” I asked aloud.
    â€œI want us to be friends.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œAnd because our mutual friend Greg Schroeder tells me that you’re searching for Juan Carlos Navarre at the behest of my granddaughter.”
    â€œMrs. Muehlenhaus, I am shocked by the company you keep.”
    â€œI like Mr. Schroeder. He reminds me of Dick Powell in Murder, My Sweet. Have you seen it?”
    â€œI have,” I said. I didn’t see the resemblance between Schroeder and the actor, though, a thought I kept to myself.
    â€œDo you know what Walter calls him? The dependable Mr. Schroeder.”
    â€œAhh,” I hummed.
    â€œDo you know what he calls you?”
    â€œYes, I do.”
    Mrs. Muehlenhaus laughed as if it were all a great joke.
    â€œI have taken a fancy to you, McKenzie,” she said.
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œDon’t thank me. It’s not necessarily a compliment. I have appalling taste in men. Take my husband, please.”
    The way she spoke and laughed, I swear she was flirting with me just as Irene Rogers had.
    It seems you have a knack with little old ladies, my inner voice told me. I only hope you still have it when you’re a little old man.
    When she finished laughing, Mrs. Muehlenhaus took a sip of her lemonade, smiled brightly, and asked, “McKenzie, why are you looking for Mr. Navarre?”
    â€œWhy are you?”
    â€œYou’re not married…”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAlthough you and the lovely Ms. Truhler seem to be enjoying a long and extremely stable relationship.”
    â€œIt bothers me, Mrs. Muehlenhaus, that you seem to know so much about my personal life. Scares me a little, too.”
    She reached across the table and patted my knee as if she expected me to think nothing of it and kept talking.
    â€œMs. Truhler has an equally lovely and extremely intelligent daughter to whom you have become quite attached. Rickie is her name.”
    â€œShe prefers Erica,” I said.
    â€œWhat would you do, McKenzie, if you discovered that Erica was involved with a dangerous criminal? Would you intervene?”
    â€œIs Navarre a dangerous criminal?”
    â€œYou didn’t answer my question.”
    â€œYou didn’t answer mine.”
    Somewhere behind the closed mahogany door a voice boomed. “Margaret. Margaret, where are you?”
    Mrs. Muehlenhaus smiled.
    â€œHe only calls me that when he’s upset,” she said.
    The door flew open and Mr. Muehlenhaus stepped inside. He was a fairly tall man, and from the way he moved it was clear that he had no intention of ever surrendering to age.
    â€œDammit, Margaret. What did I tell you?”
    Mrs. Muehlenhaus’s eyes grew wide, her jaw clenched, and she gestured with her head at the door. Swear to God, I thought I heard her growl.
    â€œOh, all right,” Mr. Muehlenhaus said.
    He spun around and left the room, closing the door behind him. A moment later, he knocked gently.
    â€œCome in,” Mrs. Muehlenhaus called.
    Mr. Muehlenhaus reentered the room, moving quickly. He stepped in front of his wife yet pointed at me.
    â€œMaggie, I left specific instructions,” he told her.
    â€œYes, you did, dear.”
    Mrs. Muehlenhaus patted the empty cushion next to her, and Mr. Muehlenhaus sat. That was the end of the argument.
    â€œWould you like some strawberry lemonade?” Mrs. Muehlenhaus asked.
    â€œActually, I would prefer some of your Scotch.”
    â€œYou know where it