Free Address to Die For by Mary Feliz Page A

shrugged. People are weird. She took great care with her appearance. Maybe she didn’t think dogs belonged in the house.
    I followed a path lined with African iris and lobelia around the side of the house, through a redwood gate, and into the backyard. A German shepherd bounded to greet us, tail wagging. I let Belle off her leash. The pair sniffed each other and then they were off, chasing one another like puppies.
    Steps led to a redwood deck that extended across the back of the house and looked like a picture in an upscale garden catalog. Comfy-looking red cushions covered black wrought-iron armchairs and ottomans. The look had the welcoming feel I hoped we’d someday achieve in our new house.
    I peered through the window, but it was dark inside the house and I couldn’t see a thing. I tried the knob just as the back door opened. I stumbled into the room and was helped up by a woman who had to be Tess’s twin sister.
    She looked like Tess but without the edgy black and red power outfit. This woman’s hair was pulled back in a scruffy ponytail. She wore a gray sweatshirt splotched with white paint and jeans that appeared to be a size or two too large. On her feet were a battered pair of Ugg boots on which I was sure I’d spotted a lump of dried cookie dough.
    â€œTess?”
    â€œShh.” She laughed and pulled me into a kitchen that smelled of the cookies. “This is the at-home Tess. I shed those killer heels and that silly power suit the minute I walk through the door.”
    I must have looked skeptical, because she pulled me through the house and threw open the door to a room near the front door. The size of a small bedroom, it looked like a Hollywood dressing room with racks of classic black and red suits and snowy white blouses. A lighted counter held scads of cosmetics. A robe lay crumpled on the floor of the adjacent bathroom.
    My astonishment showed and Tess laughed—a gentle, burbling laugh that was at odds with the woman I’d seen at the school.
    â€œI keep my business stuff in here. It used to be the guest room. Mozart and the cats aren’t allowed in here—it saves time not to have to swipe off dog and cat hair. I can get changed in a heartbeat if anyone needs me for work. For everyone except my friends I wear these dominatrix clothes. They help me get deals signed quickly.”
    I shook my head and smiled. “Um . . . I have to admit that dominatrix is exactly the word I chose to describe you when you were sitting in front of me this morning.”
    Tess laughed and tugged me back toward the kitchen. “Isn’t that Miss Harrier awful? I swear she’ll be the death of me. If a form isn’t filled out exactly right she’ll rip it up and send it home. The parents want to kill her. And now with the budget cuts . . .” Tess shook her head.
    She pulled cobalt-blue mugs and plates from the cabinet and continued talking as she pointed me toward a chair at a round table covered with a red-checked tablecloth. “Swear-to-God, the only reason she’s still alive is that kids are in middle school for such a short period. By the time parents are ready to throttle her, their kids have moved on to high school.”
    Tess measured ground coffee into a paper filter and poured boiling water over it. I found the lack of a computerized coffee machine refreshing. Much as I thrived on fancy coffee, I was glad to know there were people in this town who didn’t need the trendiest appliances.
    Tess handed me a steaming cup and pushed a pitcher of cream toward me. I poured the cream until the coffee turned the color of a paper grocery bag, then lifted the mug to my lips. It smelled heavenly. I sipped and Tess passed me the plate of cookies. Oatmeal. Old-fashioned. Homey.
    â€œNow, tell me where you’re from and where you’re living,” Tess said. “Is there anything you need? You said the movers were coming. What time? We’ll watch