Free The Girl Is Trouble by Kathryn Miller Haines

roadblock we have to go around.”
    I didn’t have the heart to tell her that sometimes they were the same thing.
    *   *   *
     
    I ARRIVED HOME and found Pop’s office door closed. He was on the phone, cajoling some poor hourly worker into giving him information for one of several cases he was working on. I wondered if it was a job he’d intended me to take on after school and then decided to do himself when I failed to show up.
    Frankly, I kind of hoped that was the case.
    I dropped my books with a boom onto the cocktail table. As the sound faded, Pop’s door opened. “Where have you been?”
    “The library,” I said.
    He still had the phone in his hand, the cord stretched to its maximum capacity. “No, she’s here,” he said to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Thanks for the offer, though.” He limped back to the desk and put the receiver on the cradle. “What’s the rule if you’re going to be late?”
    “To let you know.”
    He charged the doorway once again. “Did that slip your mind?”
    “Kind of.” I stared him down, trying to force him to read my thoughts: Sorry for not calling, Pop, but I was a little preoccupied by the news that my mother had been murdered and that you weren’t the only one who insisted on calling it a suicide.
    He receded, slightly, into the office. “Don’t let it happen again.”
    “All right.”
    He tapped his fingers on the jamb, seemingly debating whether to say more or leave it at that. “I’m giving you a pass tonight, because I know you’ve had a shock, but you only get one pass. Tomorrow, everything’s back to normal. Same rules, same everything.” He turned away.
    “It seems to me I’ve earned at least two passes.”
    He froze. “What was that?”
    “Nothing.” What was the point in egging him on? It wasn’t going to solve anything.
    He faced me again. “I’m going out for a while.”
    “All right.”
    He frowned. “Are you okay? You look pale.”
    “I didn’t sleep well last night.” I hadn’t intended to make another dig at that thing he wouldn’t talk about , but I could tell he took it that way anyway.
    “Try to go to bed early tonight. You don’t want to get sick.”
    “Okay.”
    He left the house and I lowered my head onto my lap the way we’d been taught to do for air-raid drills. Only it wasn’t blows from above that I wanted to protect myself from; it was the ones that were coming from inside my head that worried me.
    “Iris? Is okay?” Mrs. M.’s voice brought me back to myself. I shot up straight and offered her a stiff smile.
    “Just stretching.”
    “Good. You give me scare.”
    “Sorry.”
    “You are sure there is not something more?”
    “Nope.” The office phone rang. “I better get that,” I told Mrs. M. I made it to the desk on the fourth ring, and breathlessly announced that the caller had reached AA Investigations.
    “Iris? It’s Michael Rosenberg.”
    “Hi, Michael.”
    “I heard you did the interviews today.”
    “Yep.”
    “Is this a bad time?”
    “Um, kind of.” I wasn’t being fair. Just because Mama was on my mind didn’t mean Michael didn’t deserve my attention. “I mean no. It’s fine.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Were you able to do the stakeout, too?”
    “Pearl did one this morning, but we weren’t able to do it this afternoon.” My gaze passed over the contents of Pop’s desk. The stack of bills he needed to pay was still there, the corner of each invoice neatly lined up.
    “Then I guess you missed it.”
    “Missed what?”
    “Whoever put the note in Saul’s locker.”
    Oops. “Apparently so. What did this one say?” I opened Pop’s drawer. There was nothing in there but a few pens and pencils and some paper clips.
    “‘If the Germans can’t get rid of you, maybe I should.’ And there was a yellow felt star in the note with Saul’s name written on it.”
    “Wow.” I closed the drawer and something caught my eye. A piece of pink