Free Murder in the Past Tense (Miss Prentice Cozy Mystery Series Book 3) by E. E. Kennedy Page A

your voice better anyway.”
    “So what if it does? Why her all of a sudden? Eileen, Janey, whatever her name is. Out of the blue like that?”
    “I had to. She said she’d leave otherwise.”
    “So what? She shouldn’t be here anyway. And what about Danny? You know who his uncle is.”
    Who is Danny’s uncle?
    “Don’t worry about that. Pat has a plan.”
    Dierdre was whining now. “C’mon! We don’t need her! Let her go!”
    “You know I can’t do that. There’s no telling what would happen to her. You know the danger she’s in! If something happened to her, her father’d never forgive me. I’d never forgive myself. While she’s here I’ll work out something, and I swear she’ll be gone once Last Leaf is over.”
    I smiled to myself. I’ll be gone when the last leaf dies . . .
    “Oh, do whatever you want. But you owe me big time! And don’t think I’ll forget it.” Before I could react, she flounced out of the office, slamming the door.
    I whirled and headed in the direction of the phone booth again. Just as I sat down, Terence appeared at the booth door. “May I have another word with you, Amelia?”
    Could he tell by my expression that I’d heard anything?
    “Immediately?” He crooked his finger.
    I followed him into the office and took the seat in front of his desk. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, one of which had the open pack of crackers while the other contained a half-eaten one, all the while the strap of my purse was sliding down my shoulder.
    “Why am I always finding you in that telephone booth?”
    I popped the half-cracker in my mouth and chewed, stalling for time to come up with something. I swallowed.
    “My dad is kind of, um, overprotective.” It was true, as far as it went. “I call home sometimes.”
    “Oh, I see.” He sat behind the desk and folded his hands. Staring at his fingers, he said smoothly, “Amelia, have you kept your side of our agreement?”
    Nodding, I made the international tick-a-lock gesture on my pursed lips and threw the invisible key away.
    “That’s good. Keep it up. But remember,” he leaned forward and looked directly into my eyes, “if I learn that you have broken our . . . pact, Amelia, there will be consequences, ones that will not make you happy.” He articulated each word crisply. “Do we understand each other?”
    My mouth was dry. I blinked rapidly. Again I was glad that the big desk stood between us. I nodded once more.
    “All right.” He sat back and turned his gaze on one of the posters. “Here it is: You’ve probably heard that I’ve worked in the City—New York City—for the past few years.”
    “Pat showed us your trunk with all the pictures and things. It was amazing!” I said in a breathless voice. I wanted him to smile, to seem less threatening.
    My little ploy worked. He managed a faint smile. “Yes, well, she is my cheering section. Anyway, I made some friends when I first got there, and one of them was Eileen’s father.”
    “You said you owe him. Why?”
    His dark frown returned. “Where’d you hear that?”
    Where had I heard it? “In the, uh, tire department. You know.”
    “Look, Amelia, I told you I’d explain, because I need your cooperation, but not everything is fair game.”
    “You said lives are at stake. What did you mean?”
    He shook his head. He didn’t want to tell me.
    “You said she would be safe ‘out there.’ ” I crooked my fingers in quotes, the way my English teacher always hated. “Where’s out there? What did you mean? Where would she be safe?”
    “Keep your voice down!” he snapped, then whispered angrily, “She testified at a trial. Until the other day she was living out west. To get away from . . . the people she testified against. She should have stayed there. Instead she came here.”
    “She’s hiding out?”
    “In a manner of speaking.” He sighed. “The government has a program to protect witnesses, Witness Security, nicknamed WitSec. It’s supposed