Free Deadlock by DiAnn Mills

to a box in the corner. “Her daughter Carly plans to pick them up this afternoon.”
    “My partner and I interviewed the family. They appear to be working through the grieving process.”
    “Alicia never mentioned her husband, but she talked about the girls. They’re all musically inclined. Sometimes she sang to the children, and we all listened.”
    Bethany nodded. “I met her daughters. Beautiful.”
    When her pale-blue eyes pooled, Elizabeth grasped another tissue. “I’ll snap out of this. Thought I’d gotten past the shock. I’ve arranged for our ladies’ minister to do a few counseling sessions, except she’s tied up for the next month. Fortunately a volunteer has stepped into her role. She’s coming by five days a week.”
    “Wonderful.”
    “She’s here now with several of the residents upstairs. Would you like to meet her?”
    “Of course.” These women needed continuous support, and a new face could help them through the process. “But first, I have a quick question   —well, two. Do the names Mae Kenters or Ruth Caswell mean anything to you?”
    “No, other than the Caswell woman’s recent murder.”
    “Okay. Thanks. I’m ready to meet your new volunteer.”
    Elizabeth led Bethany up a flight of creaky stairs to a huge open space where a noisy group of women and children were gathered. The tattered blue sofa needed replacing. Her church supported Noah’s Loft, and she’d make them aware of the need. Or she’d make the purchase herself.
    “There she is,” Elizabeth whispered and pointed. “Working a floor puzzle with the children.”
    A woman in her late thirties, wearing huge pink glasses, smiled, and Elizabeth beckoned her. “Dorian, do you have a minute? I’d like for you to meet someone.”
    Green eyes under a mop of short blonde hair met Bethany, andthe slender figure popped up like one of the kids. She stepped over toys and arms and legs with an extended hand.
    “This is Bethany Sanchez,” Elizabeth said to the woman. “Bethany, I’d like you to meet Dorian Crawford.”
    “What a pleasure.” Dorian pumped her hand. “Glad you’re here. Are you staying? Goodness, you’re pretty.” The woman talked faster than an auctioneer.
    “Thanks. I don’t want to keep you. So glad you’ve stepped in for Alicia.”
    Dorian beamed. “I could never take her place, but I can do my part. We’re all learning together.”
    “Miss Dorian,” a small African American boy said. “Can we play Twister again?”
    “Sure. In a few minutes. When we’re done, we’ll throw a few balls in the backyard. See if you can improve your batting average.”
    Bethany appreciated the woman’s interest. Enthusiasm was the secret to staying young, and Dorian obviously had the energy to make a difference in the residents’ lives.
    One of the staff members from downstairs called to Elizabeth, and she excused herself.
    “Alicia was quite involved with the residents here,” Bethany said.
    Dorian nodded like a bobblehead doll. “One of her specialties was helping them with English and grammar for their résumés. I’m not qualified. Barely made it through high school   —too many years ago.” Long bangs hung into her eyes. “But you’d be perfect. You look highly educated. We could use a person of your caliber. Do you have a day job?”
    How quickly could Bethany excuse herself? “My job keeps me busy, unless I used my volunteer time twice a month.”
    “Can’t you do any better?”
    Bethany inwardly sighed. “One hour a week, on Saturday afternoons.”
    “Wonderful.” Dorian clapped her hands as though she were ten.
    “Understand my job could pull me away at a moment’s notice.”
    She glared. “I’ll see if I can find someone for those times. You know this is about commitment. I’d like your cell phone number.”
    “Elizabeth has it.”
    “Well, I’ll be here in case you call in with other plans.” She whirled around and descended the steps.
    Bethany watched Dorian leave. Good