Free A Bad Day for Sorry: A Crime Novel by Sophie Littlefield

about Roy Dean, then decided Arthur had punished himself enough for one day.
    “Ah, well,” Arthur said, making his way up the ladder again. “Sorry I couldn’t help you more.”
    “No, you were—you helped plenty,” Stella said.
    “Just one thing. It ain’t Arthur Junior causing anybody trouble,” Arthur said without looking at her, picking up hisbrush and dipping it carefully in the creamy paint. “He’s a good boy, just gets a little distracted sometimes.”
    “I’ll remember that. You have a good day, now.”
    As Stella made her way back to the car, her heart felt like it had got weighed down and rode a little lower in her chest. She hoped Arthur Junior, at least, would not give the quiet man on the ladder any more cause to live by the lies he told himself.
     
    When Stella pulled up in front of her house, the sun was casting long shadows across the lawn, and Todd was doing skateboard tricks in her driveway.
    “Hey, Stella, park out on the street,” he called. “I want to use your driveway.” He did some sort of flip that involved him leaping into the air with his skinny legs out at a comic angle while the skateboard flipped both over and around in a circle. When he landed, with a crash so loud it was miraculous the deck didn’t split in half, Todd teetered for a moment and then fell on his behind.
    “Ow! Shit!”
    “Watch your mouth,” Stella said, but she did as he asked and left the car in the street. Better to have him flopping around on her driveway, leaving patches of his skin on the concrete, than in the street getting run over. She walked over and glared at the boy, not bothering to offer to help him up.
    Todd examined his palm, which was scraped red and crusted with old scabs.
    “I reckon you ought to put some Neosporin on that,” Stella said.
    “You got any?”
    “I might, but am I your personal nurse? I don’t think so.”
    “Aw, come on, I don’t want to have to go all the way back—”
    “Todd, you live
two doors down,
” Stella said, pointing.
    Todd shrugged and got to his feet, as graceful and light as a dancer, and jumped back on the board. He wore his hair down around his shoulders, but it looked as if he’d cut it himself, and maybe he had. His mother had more than enough on her plate.
    “Well, you got anything to eat?” he asked, wiping his bloody hand on his baggy shorts.
    Stella rolled her eyes. “I guess. Come on in.”
    “There’s a lady in your house,” Todd said. He toed the end of his skateboard, and it flipped up into his hand. Not a bad trick, really.
    “Yeah? Leave that filthy thing outside and wipe your feet. What kind of lady?”
    “Kind of fat, but not too fat. Blond hair. Giant boobs.”
    Chrissy.
    Inside, Stella called out a hello—no sense spooking the poor girl. Found her in the same chair from the morning, but she’d fallen asleep. Startled awake, Chrissy pushed at the strands of corn-silk hair that had matted themselves to her face with sweat.
    “How’d you manage the lock, sweetheart?” Stella asked.
    “Oh, I showed her your key,” Todd said. “You know, under the pot on the porch.”
    “Todd,” Stella said sternly. She’d shown Todd the key last winter when she hired him to water her plants during a visit to see her sister Gracellen in California. “You do not give strangers my key. You don’t let strangers into my house. Hear?”
    “Yeah, well, I—”
    “She could be anyone. You know, an axe murderer or something.”
    Todd looked dubious. “Her?”
    Stella bit down her unease. It was true that Chrissy looked about as dangerous as a toy poodle. It was also true that Stella had always managed to keep the unseemlier aspects of her work away from her home, but the day might come when some disgruntled asshole came around looking for trouble. She grabbed Todd’s arm hard and gave it a yank. He had already passed her up in height, but she had the advantage of mass and bulk.
    “Hey!”
    “Listen up, cupcake, or no snack. You