Free The Girl Is Trouble by Kathryn Miller Haines Page A

stationery was facedown on the floor as though it had drifted out of a folder without Pop noticing. I bent down and picked it up.
    “I know,” said Michael. “Our writer is making direct threats now.”
    “How did Saul take it?” I picked up the page and turned it over. It was a note to Pop in pretty, feminine writing.
     
Art,
Kommen Sie häufig hier?
Are you impressed? I’ve been practicing!
Looking forward to this weekend,
Betty
    “Iris?”
    “Hmmm?”
    “Are you there?”
    “Yes. I’m listening.” But I wasn’t. All I could think about was that note. Why was Betty leaving Pop notes, in German, no less? And what were they doing this weekend?
    I copied the German phrase onto another piece of paper and returned the original to the floor.
    “… tomorrow, right?” said Michael.
    “What?”
    “You’re doing the stakeout tomorrow, right?”
    “Yes. Absolutely. And I’ll talk to Saul.”
    “Good. We’re counting on you, Iris.”
    “I know. I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I hung up and went into the kitchen, where Mrs. M. was stirring a pot steaming on the stove. “That smells good,” I told her.
    “Is krupnik. Barley and vegetable soup with a little meat. Good on a chilly day.”
    “You sure do know a lot of Polish recipes.”
    “Is not just Polish food. I know Russian and German recipes, too.”
    I was grateful for the segue. “You speak German, right?”
    “A little.”
    “Can you translate this?” I passed her the German sentence, written in my hand.
    “What is?”
    “Something I heard a woman say at the library tonight. I’m not sure I spelled the words right.”
    “No. Spelling is good. A woman, you say? Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure. Either that or it was a very pretty man.”
    She smiled and held the piece of paper away from the steam. “I ask because this is—” She struggled to find the word. “You know, when a man wants a woman to go out on a date with him.”
    “You mean like a proposition?” I said.
    “Yes! Is proposition. It means: Are you coming here frequently?”
    I finessed her translation: Do you come here often?
    “This is why I ask if you hear woman say it. Is a man thing to do, yes?”
    “Maybe she was quoting someone else,” I said. “She laughed right after she said it.” I took the paper back and shoved it in my pocket.
    “Ah, to be young again and told these sorts of things by men.” Mrs. M. shook her head sadly. “Is anything else I can help you with?”
    “No, thanks,” I told her. She hadn’t cleared anything up for me, but I wasn’t about to ask her why her daughter was propositioning Pop.
    *   *   *
     
    I TOSSED AND TURNED THAT NIGHT, too many new facts battling one another for me to have rest. Mama had been murdered, but officially it was called a suicide. Pop was in possession of a letter from Betty Mrozenski in which she wasn’t just flirting with him; she was outright hitting on him. In German. And apparently they had a date for this weekend.
    What did it all mean?
    Had Pop figured out why they had declared Mama’s death a suicide? The presence of those photos in the safe made me think he hadn’t. Was he still trying to solve the case, or after a year had he decided to move on?
    And if he had, was Betty Mrozenski the reason why?
    That would explain why she was at the house so much and why, even when exhausted, he offered to walk her to the subway station. Maybe it was also why he was so adamant about not talking about the photos with me: he was ready to leave them in the past and move on with his life. And he needed me to do that, too.
    How could he be so selfish?
    Mama deserved to have someone pursue what had happened to her. If the police declared her death a suicide, they clearly weren’t interested in finding out the truth. And if Pop was ready to move on with his life, he wasn’t game for it, either. So who was left?
    Me.

 
     
    CHAPTER
     
    7
    PEARL WAS WAITING FOR ME at the corner of