Free Fowl Prey by Mary Daheim Page A

jacket hung at half-mast from one of the bedposts, and a half-dozen magazines were scattered around the room. The air smelled of tobacco, perfume, and sensuality.
    â€œGee,” said Renie, “an upscale Bob-o.” She picked up an emerald-green Yves St. Laurent tunic from the floor. “Desiree?”
    â€œMost likely. It’s sure not Mildred.” Judith was at the window, tugging hard. “This place needs an airing anyway. Ooops!” She had just edged the sash up an inch when she lost her grip and the window came crashing down.
    Renie, who had been perusing a closetful of glittering gowns that looked like stage costumes, let out a little squeak. “Are you okay?”
    Judith surveyed a broken fingernail. There were mirrors everywhere, giving the illusion of several sets of cousins and even more disarray than actually existed. Desiree’s closet, however, was more opulent than overflowing. The dazzling array of satins and silks, sequins and beads, along with all manner of shimmering decorations indicated that the actress’s wardrobe traveled with her. “Quit ogling those fairy-tale outfits and give me a hand,” coaxed Judith. “This window’s heavy.” Working in tandem, the cousins finally raised the sash. They crawled out onto the fire escape and were suddenly overcome by the rickety feeling of the metal platform under their feet.
    â€œIt’s a long way down, actually,” breathed Renie. Nervously, she tugged at the window to push it back in place. “I think I’ll take off my heels.”
    â€œMe, too.” Moving cautiously in the confined space, the cousins prepared for the descent. The ivy brushed at them, the wind picked up from the bay, the steel railing felt like ice to their touch. From somewhere close by, probably a police car parked on Empress Drive, they could hear the toneless voice of a radio dispatcher, giving notice of a vehicular accident on the St. George Bridge. By the time Judith and Renie reached the third floor, they dared to look down into Hepburn Street. A dozen or more people were milling about at the corner. Curious bystanders, Judith thought, and hoped they wouldn’t look up.
    They didn’t. The cousins made the final leap to the ground on stockinged feet, then turned away from the little crowd. It appeared they had escaped the Clovia without mishap.
    â€œWow,” gasped Renie, stopping at the crosswalk to put her shoes back on, “where do I get these weird ideas? Remind me never to try that one again! It’s a good thing the Prince Albert Cafe’s menu is worth it.”
    But after they crossed the street, Judith headed not forthe cafe, but the alley down the block. Renie grabbed her leather sleeve. “Hold it, you’re going the wrong way!”
    â€œJust a detour. Let’s see if the police have gone to Bob-o’s apartment yet.”
    â€œCoz! It’s after eight-thirty! I’m going to pass out from hunger! You aren’t serious about this detection crap, are you?” Renie was clinging to Judith with all her might, heels dug into the parking strip grass.
    But Judith was undeterred. “Let’s just look. It’s right here, past the dumpster.”
    Renie gave in. The alley was dark. There was no sign of police activity. Judith took a small flashlight from her purse and passed it over the uneven cobbles. In the shadows, by the packing crates, something moved. Judith and Renie froze in place. A shrill cry met their ears.
    â€œLet’s get out of here!” urged Renie in a frightened whisper.
    Judith held up a hand. “Wait.” The packing crates moved again. Just as Judith was about to take Renie’s advice, the Siamese cat stalked into the alley, blue eyes gleaming in the glow of Judith’s flashlight.
    â€œOkay, okay,” breathed Renie, “so it wasn’t Jack the Ripper. I still say, let’s go. There’s a murderer loose,