Free One We Love, The by Donna White Glaser Page A

suspecting me in my boyfriend’s
murder, Blodgett was one of my mainstays following my attack. After he’d
decided I hadn’t killed anyone. But he’d stayed involved in my life and I had
the feeling that wasn’t a typical reaction for him. I’d grown close with his
wife, Diana, a sweet forbearing woman who was awaiting Blodgett’s retirement
with eager plans. She’d put her years in raising children—their own four as
well as an assortment of foster kids—and she was ready for some serious cross-country
visiting. An elaborate motor home stood parked in the side yard ready to go, a
travel itinerary all laid out. Diana claimed the only thing she had left to
pack was her recipe box. She planned to cook each person’s favorite treat as
soon as Blodgett slammed the gear shift to D. Secretly, I pretended to be one
of her adopted daughters.
    “It’s going to sound stupid,” I said to Blodgett.
    His sigh rattled in my ear. “I’m a detective. I’m used to
stupid. Lay it on me.”
    So I did. He already knew about Regina’s death. In fact,
he’d been to the wake. I assumed he knew the manner of her death, but I went
over it anyway, mentioning the strange fall, the knitting needle. Then I filled
him in on Regina’s recent appointment of me as her professional executor. He
grunted at that, but didn’t interrupt, which I took as cop-speak for “I’m
listening; please go on.” Either that or he was sitting on the john.
    “And then,” I continued, “I found this stack of client files
that Regina took from the shelter. She wasn’t supposed to do that.”
    “Maybe she was just going to work at home.”
    “They weren’t all her clients. In fact, they weren’t even
recent cases. Plus, taking the files from the site is a breach of
confidentiality. In many agencies, that would be a firing offense. You just
don’t do it. Regina would have been well aware of that. She didn’t have
permission either, because Clotilde, the director, was pretty steamed when I
gave them back.”
    There was a pause, then, “You gave them back?”
    “Of course I did,” I said, virtuousness dripping from my
lips.
    Another pause. “I’ll want to see the copies. What else?”
    I didn’t bother asking how he knew I’d made copies. He was a
detective, after all.
    “There was a woman at the shelter the night Regina died. She
took off the next morning, which isn’t really surprising, I suppose, if she’s
afraid of getting involved. But I was supposed to have access to all of
Regina’s clients and they kept her off the client roster. I found out about her
inadvertently.”
    “So, you’ve got an accidental death and a bunch of misfiled
files?”
    “Well, no.”
    He waited.
    “I’ve got a creepy feeling too.”
    “Uh-huh. An accidental death, misfiled files, and you’re creepy.”
    “A creepy feeling . Look, if you don’t want—”
    “Get me copies of the copies. I’ll look into it.” He hung
up.
    Why did I love rude people so much?

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
     
     
     
    I ’d hoped
Blodgett would share info from the autopsy or give me a hint as to what the
cops were thinking. Wrong. Information only traveled one way with Blodgett. I
snuggled down under my comforter getting ready to do my own sleep buzzing when
a new thought crept into the fuzzy edges of my mind.
    Blodgett sent me a text?
    I tried to ignore it. Siggy had settled into the hollow at
the back of my knees, providing kitty-heating-pad warmth. I didn’t want to bug
him again. Feline attitude can be scary.
    But a text message from Blodgett would have definitely
caught my attention. If it had gotten through, I should be hearing the beepy
alert telling me I’d missed a call.
    I pulled the covers up to my chin, burrowing deeper into the
cozy softness. Obviously Blodgett’s grandson hadn’t done a good job of
instructing him. Not surprising. Blodgett, despite his self-delusions, was not
on the cutting edge of communication technology. He kept up with just