Free All Sales Fatal by Laura Disilverio

to face the intruder, so I wanted backup on the way. The operator asked, “What is the nature of your emergency?” at the same time I heard footsteps in the hall.
    “Paula? Is that you?” a woman’s voice called.
    “Oh my God! Aggie?” Paula’s voice went from avenging Valkyrie to exasperated in two seconds flat.
    “Never mind,” I told the operator, hanging up.
    A short, plump woman emerged from the dark hallway, flame red hair spiraling to her shoulders in a thick, springy mass. Mrs. Woskowicz Number Three, I presumed.
    “You about gave me a heart attack,” she complained to Paula. She entered the kitchen and went straight to the fridge, extracted a beer, popped the top with a bottle opener she pulled from a drawer, and took a healthy swig. She wasforty-fiveish, with skin dark enough to suggest some African-American or Hispanic heritage, small features, and designer jeans spray painted over rounded hips and full thighs. Red platform pumps peeped from beneath her jeans.
    “Me? You took five years off my life, Aggie. What are you doing here anyway?”
    “Feeding Kronos,” the shorter woman said with a sniff that wrinkled the skin on her pug nose. “Who are you?”
    I introduced myself and said we were sorry for scaring her. “I don’t suppose you have any idea where your ex-husband might be?” I asked.
    “He’s dead,” Aggie announced flatly. She tilted the beer bottle to her mouth and drained it.
    Her announcement startled me, and I gazed at her with a mix of suspicion and doubt.
    “And you know this how?” Paula asked skeptically. “You’re so doom and gloom, Aggie, always focusing on the negative.”
    “He’d never willingly leave Kronos to fend for himself,” Aggie said. “Never. He loved that little guy.”
    The slight catch in her voice and the tears starting to her eyes seemed overdone to me. Apparently, Paula thought so, too.
    “You’re such a drama queen, Ag. No wonder Denny divorced you. No man could put up with that ‘woe is me, the sky is falling’ mopeyness from his cornflakes clear through to bedtime.”
    Aggie drew herself up to her full height, maybe five-one, and glared at Paula. “Well, at least I held on to him for six years, Miss Sunlight Shines Outta Your Ass. You barely lasted three. So who around here needs an attitude adjustment, huh? Huh?” She thrust her chin forward pugnaciously.
    Before the confrontation could degenerate into a catfight, I asked, “Aggie, do you have any proof Woskowicz is dead?”
    After a moment’s thought she reluctantly said, “No. But he is.”
    A ding-dong from the front door brought all our heads around. Paula and Aggie jostled each other trying to get to the door, and I followed more slowly. Without even looking to see who was on the stoop, Paula fussed with the dead bolt before realizing it wasn’t engaged, and then pulled the door wide while Aggie muttered, “What gives her the right? It’s more my house than hers because I just moved out last year. I don’t know where she gets off acting like she still lives here. I mean, I’m Wosko’s most recent wife. Just because she was married to him when he bought this place doesn’t give her any special rights.”
    I made soothing noises and stopped midstep at the sight of the cop on the doorstep. Tall, rangy, and young, he sported a serious expression.
    “Hello!” Paula greeted him with a welcoming smile.
    “Oh no, what’s happened?” Aggie asked. “Is it Wosko?”
    I stayed silent. The young officer looked at each of us in turn, somewhat confused, then said, “We got a report of an interrupted 911 call. Is everything okay here?”
    “Absolutely,” Paula said, “but thank you for coming by.”
    “No, it’s not,” Aggie said, shouldering her way forward. “My husband’s dead.”
    “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” the policeman said politely. “When—”
    “Ex-husband,” Paula put in. “And he’s not dead. At least if he is, she has no way of knowing it.