Free Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery by Melissa F Miller Page A

it comes from your taxi driver days. Unless you did some off the books driving.”
    That earned me a chuckle. “Yeah, the commission didn’t take too kindly to speeding. But this is how everyone drives in Rio. Fast.”
    I silently added Rio de Janeiro to my list of countries not to drive in. It’s a long list.
    “So what now?”
    “We need to go someplace where we can review Helena’s phone log safely.” He glanced at me and put special emphasis on the word ‘safely.’
    “Are you saying we’re in danger?”
    “I’m saying I don’t know. If those guys in the apartment are working for Gabriel, I’m sure they reported running into me. If they gave a halfway-decent description of me, he’ll realize who I am. And, from there, it’ll be easy enough for him to get a tail on me. Did they see you?”
    “The guys?”
    I shook my head. “No. I buzzed you—well, them—in and then went back to the bedroom to check out the comforter. When I heard them, I hid. So they know someone buzzed them in, but they don’t even know that it came from Helena’s apartment. I mean, right?” I thought what I was saying was the actual situation, but I also desperately needed to believe it. Even if it wasn’t true. The near-miss in the apartment had rattled me.
    “I think that’s right. And they wouldn’t have any reason to connect you to Helena or me just because you both worked for Cate Whittier-Clay.”
    I noted his use of the past tense but didn’t mention it. He couldn’t really believe his sister was dead—if he did, we’d be talking to the cops, not running around like idiots. “So, my place should be safe.”
    “Should be. For now, at least. But I don’t want to risk taking you back there. If Gabriel is looking for me, I sure don’t want to be the one to lead him to you.”
    “So, where can we go?” I really wanted to get off the street. I’d feel much safer inside some anonymous building. “Your office?”
    He shook his head no. “I know a place.”

10
    T he place he knew turned out to be the main branch of the New York Public Library—the one in Manhattan with the famous, majestic lions Patience and Fortitude guarding the steps. We didn’t stop to admire the statues, though. He was in a hurry.
    He led me to the mixed-use research rooms on the first floor and poked his head into one room after another, looking for a vacant one. They were all buzzing with activity, except for the periodical research room where one dark-skinned girl with a pile of long, heavy braids coiled into a tall bun on the top of her head was poring over a stack of magazines. It would do. She glanced up when we walked in, then immediately returned to her reading.
    Victor picked the table furthest from her and pulled out a chair for me. I sat down and waited while he carried over a chair from the other side of the table. He placed it beside mine with the softest of thuds. The woman didn’t look up.
    He removed Helena’s phone from his pocket and sat down. We both leaned in to see the screen, so close that our foreheads touched. I pulled back slightly, startled by the contact.
    “Here.” He handed me the phone and pulled out his notebook. I scrolled through the calls slowly while he jotted down the numbers and provided occasional commentary in a low voice. We started with her outgoing calls, beginning with her last call and working our way back. She’d made a call Friday evening just before eight p.m. to a number with a 215 area code. The call had lasted three minutes.
    “That’s a Philadelphia number,” he breathed near my ear. “I don’t know who she knows in Philly.”
    “It could be a mobile number that the person just never changed,” I cautioned. Even though Rosemary was now in Los Angeles and Sage was in South Carolina, they’d kept their Boston and Washington, DC cell phone numbers.
    He frowned but nodded his agreement. “Could be. Let’s move on.”
    He recognized the next call as being to Lynn’s number, a brief