Free Pier Pressure by Dorothy Francis Page B

and the kitchen all opened off that central hallway. Mrs. Moore had left the scarred pine floors bare and had covered the worst spots with throw rugs.
    Since she and her husband planned to remodel the place, they had bought a minimum of furniture. The sea-blue cushions she’d flung here and there for accent color contrasted nicely with the varying shades of tropical foliage growing in old clay pots. Each room of the home looked like a page from House Beautiful —the before page. Mrs. Moore tried to explain and to show me pictures of how she imagined the after page would look following the remodeling. I didn’t envy her all that work, or if she planned to hire help, I didn’t envy her that chore either. Key West has plenty of willing handymen—unless the sun’s shining and it’s a good fishing day.
    Tonight my fear of Jude Cardell erased any beauty the old house might have had from my mind. Walking slowly to the first bedroom on my left, I snapped on the light before I entered and took a careful look around. Then, stepping inside the room, I peered into the closet, under the bed. Nothing. I felt like an old maid taking needless precautions to avoid some nonexistent intruder, but I couldn’t help myself. I picked up and carried a knife from the kitchen as I checked out the second bedroom and then the rooms that opened on the right side of the central hallway. Nothing unusual. I slipped the knife back into a utility drawer. I breathed easier as I drew the drapery across the front window, feeling sure Punt had gone home by now.
    I sat in a spot where I could see both the back door and the front door as I called Gram. I doubted she’d put her ear plugs in for the night. She’d be thinking about me, worrying about me. She answered on the first ring.
    I told her about the kid and the bike, but I never mentioned Jude. Some things Gram handles poorly, and Jude’s one of them. Even though I tried to make light of the bicycle’s near-theft, Gram heard the strain in my voice.
    “Why you no sleep at my place tonight, Keely? You be safe here. Cops keep Duval safe.”
    “I’m fine right here, Gram.” I didn’t tell her about the murder suspect list Jass, Punt, and I had drawn up, knowing that, too, would worry her. “Beau arrived home from the fishing tournament and talked with us for awhile. Of course he was almost down and out with grief. He really looked terrible.”
    “Dumb to grieve over that phony biddy,” Gram snapped.
    “His wife, Gram. His wife. He loved her.”
    “Tell me again, you be okay.”
    “I’m okay and I’ll see you bright and early in the morning as usual.” I breathed easier after I ended our conversation. Usually Gram showed a live-and-let-live attitude toward people, but never toward Margaux.
    How long had it been since I’d eaten? I could hardly remember. I smiled, thinking of Jass’s irritation whenever I said I forgot to eat. Jass claimed she’d never forgotten a meal in her life, and she probably hadn’t. This day seemed to have lasted a month. Breakfast. A few dishes in the sink reminded me of toast, orange juice, and Cheerios.
    I’d grabbed a Heath bar from my desk drawer after Detective Curry left my office, and Jass had offered snacks at her house. My stomach growled. Although I’d rather have dropped right into bed, I forced myself to scramble a couple of eggs, shred lettuce for a salad.
    I checked my stoneware mushroom keeper. Forget mushrooms. Old age had left them restless. Toast. Hot tea instead of coffee. I wanted to sleep tonight.
    The food soothed my stomach and a hot bath soothed my body. I always slept in the buff, hating the restriction of a gown or pajamas. Once in bed, I thought I’d sleep immediately, but no. I reached under my pillow to assure myself the small canister of pepper spray still lay there. I had slept with that bit of potential protection since my divorce. Nikko tried to persuade me to replace it with my gun, but guns made me nervous. Guns reminded me