Free Hare Today, Dead Tomorrow by Cynthia Baxter Page A

stitch the height of fashion wasn’t exactly in the best position to judge.
    “How long have you lived here?” I asked. After all, there was no time like the present to pump her for every bit of information I could get.
    The woman let out a loud, coarse laugh that sounded like a cough. “Longer than you can imagine. Since way before the war—the big one, that is.”
    I did a quick calculation. If she’d been in this house since a few years before World War II, she was at least in her seventies—which sounded about right.
    “How about Cassandra Thorndike?” I asked. “How long did she live here?”
    “Oh, not long.” She frowned, as if she was thinking hard. “Not even a year. Eight, ten months, maybe.”
    “Did you get to know her at all?”
    “Sure did. Lovely girl, that Cassie. She always had time for Maggie Rose here. They’d play games or read stories. She was good to me too. That girl was always coming home with candy and things, since she worked in the restaurant business and all. One sales rep, who I guess was sweet on her, was always giving her these special chocolates his company made. Those were my favorites, and I never found any stores that sold them. She was always happy to share them with me.
    “And of course the dessert chef at her boyfriend’s restaurant—John something, one of them funny French names—he was always making her special desserts and things. Being a young girl and all, she was always worried about keeping her figure. So she’d invite me over to help myself. One of the few good things about being my age is that I stopped worrying about keeping my figure ages ago!”
    “What about the day that she—what about Tuesday?” I eyed Maggie Rose, who still didn’t appear to be paying attention to what the grown-ups were saying. Even so, I knew perfectly well that little girls often had big ears. “Were you home when...you know?”
    “Sure was. I don’t go out much these days. Especially when Maggie Rose is here. I’m getting too old to take her to some shopping mall where I’d have to chase after her.”
    “I’m sure the police already asked you this,” I continued hesitantly, “but did you hear anything out of the ordinary that day?”
    “The police?” She waved her hand dismissively, letting out another cough-style laugh. “They don’t take somebody like me very seriously. They think I’m too old to know anything.”
    Maggie Rose trotted over from the backyard, having apparently lost interest in the butterfly. “Grammy says Cassie’s not coming back here ever again,” she announced.
    “That’s right, honey,” Virginia agreed, glancing at me sadly.
    “I’m gonna miss her. She was my friend.” The little girl’s face crumpled, and she looked forlorn—but only for a few seconds. Breaking into a sunny smile, she asked, “Do you ever take care of sick butterflies? Like if they break their wing or something?”
    I laughed. “I’m afraid we didn’t learn much about butterflies in veterinary school.”
    I turned back to Virginia, meanwhile fishing through my pocket. “Let me give you my business card, Mrs. Krupinski. As I mentioned, I know people who knew Cassandra. I’d be very interested in anything at all you can remember about Tuesday. If you think of something, even something that you think is insignificant, don’t think twice about giving me a call. If you have access to the Internet, you can also e-mail me through my Web site. The address is at the bottom of the card.”
    “Maybe I’ll call you if Beau here needs some medical care,” Virginia said, taking my card and squinting at it.
    “Please do.” Sincerely, I added, “I enjoyed meeting you both, and I’d be happy to be Beau’s doctor.”
    When I got back in my car, I slammed the door extra hard. I was trying to shut out the sound of Falcone’s voice, which kept replaying in my head. As much as I hated to admit it, he was probably right when he concluded that Cassandra’s neighbors