Free Death Of A Dream Maker by Katy Munger Page A

roots gleaming in the fluorescent glare of
the diner lights. “Sabrina didn't have a snowman's chance in hell
of having a baby for one very good reason and never mind the pills.
She lied about her age. Max said she was thirty-five. Hah! If she's
thirty-five, I'm the ghost of Marlene Dietrich. I've seen Sabrina's
high-school yearbook. The lady is forty-six and, I might add, has
no intention of ruining her fabulous figure with a baby this late
in life. Hence the insurance of birth-control pills. I figure she
also didn't want a kid because then she'd have to share the old
man's bucks with a little Max. Or a little Maxine.”
    “Why did she think she was going to get his money?”
Auntie Lil asked.
    “She was getting his money in the version of the will
before this last one,” Casey explained. “Or at least a big chunk of
it.”
    “But Max caught on that she was not exactly Mother
Teresa,” T.S. guessed.
    “You got it. Believe me, this lady will never be
proposed for sainthood. I've watched her in action for almost a
month now. She gets off on seducing males. Some sort of power
thing. But once she's had them, the thrill is gone. She needs
another fix.”
    “Was Max happy?” Auntie Lil asked. Her face was
unreadable, but it was obvious from her tone that the answer was
important to her.
    Casey took her time. “He wasn't unhappy,” she finally
said. “He seemed like the kind of guy who understood that life
comes with the good and the bad, you know? By the time he asked me
for help, he knew his wife had a fidelity problem and he was
dealing with it. What he wanted from me was proof enough to get her
out of his life with a minimum of fuss.”
    “Who do you think killed him?” T.S. asked her.
    Casey shrugged and spread out her hands. “I don't
know. But I think the family knows. What I wouldn't give for a peek
inside their houses. I'd say there's plenty of secrets hidden
behind those expensive walls.”
    An unspoken signal was sent and received. T.S. nodded
and Auntie Lil turned to Casey. “We have keys to all their houses,
not just Max's,” Auntie Lil announced, describing Rebecca
Rosenbloom's request. Casey did not react as they expected.
    “And you trust her?” the private investigator asked
incredulously. “If I were you, I would stay away. The woman is
setting you up. She's probably mad as hell over her brother's death
and looking to start trouble. And don't look at me to help. One
breaking and entering a week is plenty for me.” She mounted an
assault on a chocolate soda that had arrived shortly after she'd
polished off her second breakfast.
    “Good advice,” T.S. agreed firmly. “I've been a fool.
Our searching days are over. Look what happened tonight. You could
have been caught. In fact, maybe you'd better give me those keys.”
He held out a hand, but Auntie Lil ignored him.
    “I am perfectly capable of showing some restraint,”
she informed T.S. “I will put the searching of family homes on hold
until I think about it a little more. You may be right. Rebecca
Rosenbloom is not to be trusted.” She stared wistfully out the
picture window. “Still... I'd like to get a peek at Abe and Abby's
home before I give up.”
    T.S. shook his head firmly. “Absolutely not. Your
burglarizing days are over. You'll just have to save the beret for
your next trip to Paris.”
     
     
    By the time T.S. had driven Casey Jones back to her
car and returned Auntie Lil to her apartment, it was nearly three
o'clock in the morning. Herbert lived a few blocks from Auntie Lil
and was dropped off in front of his building. T.S. walked his aunt
to her door and wearily said his goodbyes, promising to call the
next day. Auntie Lil thanked him for being a good sport and watched
from the window as his car disappeared down the street.
    As soon as he was out of sight, she walked straight
to a small table next to the sofa and rummaged through its top
drawer. After extracting a container of dental floss, dozens of
rubber bands, and a