Free Appraisal for Murder by Elaine Orr Page B

“It was a more than a little unnerving.”
    She nodded. “George Winters was in here this morning. He said she was murdered.” Her always-wide eyes looked owlish. “Did it look like it?”
    Death can bring out the tactless in some of us . “Not to me. Looked like she just died in her sleep.” Before she could ask me another question, I mentioned why I was there, and she led me to the business card holders.
    “Do you like working for Mr. Steele?” she asked, as she took several card holders from a case that held small leather goods and expensive pens.
    “Harry seems real nice,” I said, for some reason wanting to make it clear that in the adult world we call people by first names. Stop thinking like a bitch, Jolie.
    “Jennifer was really mad that someone else got into that business in town.”
    “That’s not very realistic,” I said. “You’d think she’d even like it, with interest rates so low.” I realized she did not get this, so I added, “There’s almost too much work for appraisers. Everyone’s trying to refinance their houses.”
    This did not interest her. “The paper said Michael wasn’t home.”
    “Yes, I saw that.” She must think I hadn’t read it, or maybe she wasn’t connecting on the fact that I had actually been there.
    “He could have been, you know. It’s a big house.” Ramona looked away as she spoke.
    “Ramona!” I stared at her, half amused, half irritated. “You’re starting a rumor.”
    She shrugged. “I never liked him. He always called me ‘Monaramona.’ He knew I didn’t like it.”
    “That doesn’t mean he murdered his mother.” I paused. “Maybe he was teasing you because he liked you.” Given his comment about her, I doubted it, but that’s what my mother always said when boys teased me.
    “People think he wanted her money.” She gazed at me directly. “I heard his business is bad.”
    “But you don’t know any of this, Ramona.” I was irritated with her, but didn’t want to show it too much. I might want to know what else she heard later. At least as it pertained to me.
    I paid for my business card case – burgundy leather, very cool – and left the store. Yesterday I had been so purposeful, but today I felt very much at loose ends. I decided to go back to Aunt Madge’s and take Jazz outside. I wanted her to get to know the area a little, in case she accidentally got out.
    My plans were waylaid by the sight of a silver Mercedes in Aunt Madge’s small parking lot. What does he want with me ? Then I remembered that he was more likely to be here to see Aunt Madge. She greeted me at the door, with a sort of odd expression. Michael was right behind her.
    “They act like they think I killed her.” He was very upset. I hoped Aunt Madge’s guests were out. “How can they think that?” He paced to the window and back to the foyer and faced me.
    “They’re probably just fishing around,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
    “Do you think I did it?”
    “No. I can’t prove you didn’t, of course, but I don’t think you did.” It was true, for some reason I didn’t believe he killed her. Not that I would have said I thought the police were right, even if I did, in his state of mind.
    “Good,” was all he said.
    “Let’s go back to the kitchen,” Aunt Madge said, quietly. My guess was that he was a lot calmer now than he had been when he first arrived.
    Aunt Madge turned up the warmer on her tea kettle and offered us both a cup. He shook his head, but she fixed him one anyway, with honey. Aunt Madge is convinced that tea calms anyone.
    “They can’t have any real reason to suspect you,” I said, trying to ask a question without framing it that way.
    “The police don’t tell you what they think,” he said bitterly. He took a sip of the tea. “You know I left, right?”
    “I saw you leave. Where did you go?”
    “You mean do I have an alibi?” He gave a harsh laugh. “I was mostly at the beach, just walking. I sent a fax from