Free Photo, Snap, Shot by Joanna Campbell Slan

house in pee, if you let him. So you put on this belt contraption,” and here Johnny wrapped the wanker wrapper around Mr. Gibbes’ belly. “But you have to make sure his manliness is tucked in or it won’t do any good.”
    All I could do was shake my head.
    Detweiler muttered, “I can think of a better use for that contraption.”
    I ignored him.
    Johnny guided me in dressing Mr. Gibbes so he was socially acceptable. After all, I’d just mopped the floor, and I didn’t need a mess to clean up. Besides, I’ve always been house proud. Anya and I had moved in three months ago, and I was still busy fixing up and decorating our new home. I didn’t need help from an interior designer whose only color chart was yellow, darker yellow, and really, really dark yellow.
    Maybe even a shade or two of brown.
    At my front door, Johnny paused to kiss me again. Long and hard. Obviously for Detweiler’s viewing pleasure. (I thought it kind of funny, too, so I didn’t protest or cut it short.) “I have to run, but I’ll swing back by. And don’t forget we’re going to the Kemp Auto Museum over in Chesterfield next weekend.” I could tell by the sparkle in Johnny’s eyes that he was enjoying watching Detweiler watching us from the kitchen. That Johnny was such a scamp. According to Mert, he’d always flirted with danger. Unfortunately, it had also landed him a short stint in the slammer.
    “I can’t believe you let that ex-con hang around,” fumed Detweiler after Johnny left. “Much less touch you.”
    I took a deep breath. “Not your business. Not your problem. And please take note: Johnny has never lied to me.”
    “At least not that you know about,” he grumbled. I walked past him over to the refrigerator. I sort of liked hearing him get honked off. I was glad he wasn’t comfortable with the situation. He deserved it. After all, he’d made a fool of me. All my friends had known he was married. And Sheila. That was the worst.
    “Would you like some ice tea? I’ve made some spice bread, too. If you like cinnamon, you’ll love this.”
    I served him and sat down to explain what I’d learned about Danny Gartner. Then I asked, “Any news on your end?”
    “Someone stepped forward to provide legal assistance to Corey. Still no luck with the murder weapon. The Major Case Squad captain still believes we have the man who killed Sissy.”
    “Sounds like you’re out there on a limb by your lonesome.”
    He nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
    ___
    My daughter missed Detweiler by fifteen minutes. Jennifer Moore dropped her off. I promised that Nicci could sleep over next Friday after we lit the Shabbas candles at Sheila’s. My mother-in-law had planned a Shabbas dinner party. Actually, it wasn’t so much a meal as a cattle call so Ben Novak’s parents could examine my teeth and decide whether I was possible daughter-in-law material.
    Still, it was our turn to have Nicci over, and her presence would give me a great excuse for cutting the evening short. As soon as I mentioned the idea, though, Jennifer got a skittish expression on her face. “It’s fine for the girls to stay at our house. Besides, I still have Stevie at home.”
    But Stevie was a junior in high school. Why would he be staying home on a weekend night?
    Clearly, Jennifer didn’t want her daughter to spend the night at our place. I willed my face to stay neutral. I knew what she was thinking. Last year our house had been burglarized twice, and I had been wrongly imprisoned. Spending the night in the county jail had not been a career highlight—at least not yet. Worse, word about my escapades (as Sheila called them) had spread through CALA quickly. I had hoped everyone would have moved on, but once a jailbird always a jailbird. Peep, peep, peep, shoot.
    So I chose to be gracious, especially as I noticed the tense way my daughter was standing behind me, hanging on every word of my conversation. I wanted Anya to have friends, a social life, and the feeling that