Free Appraisal for Murder by Elaine Orr

close…”
    Tortino looked at me now. “I read your statement after your aunt called. I can see why you’d think she looked peaceful.”
    “But,” I persisted, “if you strangle someone, they would like, fight with you wouldn’t they? Her bed wasn’t messed up at all.”
    “They would resist, probably. Unless someone had drugged them. We’re waiting for toxicology reports.” He paused. “I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t mention that to anyone.”
    “A reporter called me this morning. I told him to call you guys.”
    Tortino was interested. “I’ll pass that on to Sgt. Morehouse in the Detective Division. Who was it?”
    I glanced at Aunt Madge. “George Winters,” she said.
    He sighed. “He’s young. Always trying to get a big story.”
    “Sounds as if he’s got one,” I said, glumly.
    “Where’s Michael?” Aunt Madge asked. “Does he know?”
    “Uh, yeah,” said Tortino. He sounded like a kid trying to hide something. I could relate to that.
    He stood. “Listen, Jolie, they’re going to ask you for your fingerprints.” The shock must have shown in my face. “Not because anyone suspects you, because we’ll have to compare the fingerprints we lifted to those of people who were supposed to be in the house.”
    I nodded, and he continued, “If you think of anything else, call Sgt. Morehouse, okay?”
    So, we were done. Aunt Madge continued to talk to him as we walked out. “I feel terrible for Michael. Ruth said they were so enjoying their time together the last two weeks.”
    “Were they?” he asked. “That’s nice.”
    When we got to the small waiting area Tortino left us. Aunt Madge seemed not to want to leave, as if she hadn’t gotten what she wanted. She gave her head a slow sideways shake. “Ruth would hate this.” I started to say Ruth didn’t have to worry about that or anything else, but stopped myself.
    As we stood there for a few seconds, there was a loud slam of a door behind us, and we both jumped. Michael Riordan stormed into view. He was walking rapidly toward the back door that leads to the parking lot, and didn’t notice us. He tried to slam that door, too, but it was hydraulic, so he couldn’t.
    Aunt Madge looked after him and then at me. “I was afraid of that,” she said.
    “Of what?”
    “They think he killed her.”
    “That doesn’t make sense,” I said, though I didn’t quite know why. He certainly knew how to demonstrate a temper.
    “You know what the police shows say, he had motive, means, and opportunity.”
    I had to stifle a laugh. “Aunt Madge, are you saying he knows how to drug people and then strangle them?”
    “No, of course not, but it will look that way. You mark my words.” She led the way out, and I followed, not certain when my aunt had started watching police shows on TV. Last I knew she was into the reality shows that masquerade as talent contests.
    I TRIED TO TALK AUNT MADGE into getting coffee at Newhart’s or Java Jolt, but she wanted to get home. “The dogs will need to go out.”
    Aunt Madge’s hands were in her lap. Usually, when I drive she leans her head against the seat, but today she sat slightly forward and held her purse tightly to her. I’d rarely seen her look so tense. “They went out right before we left. It’s been a rough morning, you could use a break.”
    She shook her head. “I’m better when I’m busy. Besides,” she glanced at her watch, “I still have one room to make up.”
    “Will you let me help, for a change?”
    I took a quick glance and saw the beginning of a smile play around her lips. “You can run the vac in the upstairs hall.”
    So I don’t do hospital corners when I make a bed. I’ve never understood the big deal about making a bed a certain way. “The vac it is,” I said.
    I STOPPED BY HARRY’S after lunch to see if he had any more work (preferably without dead bodies) or if he knew when we would finish the Riordan house. It occurred to me that if Michael was Ruth’s heir, he