Free K is for Killer by Sue Grafton Page A

me and her make decisions. The girls live at home, but we’re the ones pay the bills.”
    â€œI guess what I’m really asking is how they’re coping with Lorna’s death.”
    â€œOh. I guess we don’t tend to talk about that much. You’d have to ask them yourself. I’m trying to put this behind us, not keep it all stirred up.”
    â€œSome people find it helpful to talk about these things. That’s how they process what they’ve experienced.”
    â€œI hope I don’t sound like a surly so-and-so on the subject, but I’m just the opposite. I’d just as soon drop it and get on with life.”
    â€œWould you object to my talking with them?”
    â€œThat’s between you and them, as far as I’m concerned. They’re grown-ups. As long as they’re willing, you can talk all you want.”
    â€œMaybe I’ll catch them before I leave. We don’t necessarily have to talk today, but I’d like to have a conversation with each of them soon. It’s always possible Lorna confided something that might turn out to be significant.”
    â€œI doubt it, but you can ask.”
    â€œWhat hours do they work?”
    â€œBerl mans the phone here eight to five. I got a pager, and she makes sure I know about emergencies. She keeps my books, pays the bills, and handles the deposits. Trinny’s in the process of looking for work. She got laid off last month, so she’s here most of the time.”
    â€œWhat’s she do?”
    The series of commercials had finally come to an end,and his attention was focused on the TV set again. Two ex-athletes in suits were discussing the game. I let the matter pass, thinking I could ask her myself.
    There was a knock at the den door, and Janice peered in. “Oh, hi. Trinny said you were here. I hope I’m not interrupting.” She came into the den and closed the door behind her, bringing with her the scent of shower soap, deodorant, and damp hair. She was wearing a red-and-white-checked shirt and red polyester stretch pants. “I got a regular uniform for work,” she said, her glance following mine. She looked spiffier than I did, polyester or no. “Did anyone offer you a beverage?” I was surprised she didn’t pull out an order pad and pen.
    â€œThanks, but I’m fine. Mace offered earlier.” I reached into my handbag and took out the contract, which I laid on the coffee table. “I stopped by with this. I hope I’m not interrupting your supper preparations.”
    She waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Trinny’s taken care of that. Ever since she got laid off, it’s like having live-in help. We don’t eat until eight, which is hours from now anyway. Meantime, how’ve you been? I hope you got enough sleep. You look tired.”
    â€œI am, but I’m hoping to catch up tonight. I don’t know how you work the night shift. It would kill me.”
    â€œYou get used to it. Actually, I prefer it. A whole different set of people come in at night. By the way, that offer of coffee still stands if you’re ever up in that area when I’m on shift.” She picked up the contract, a simple one-page document spelling out the terms of our agreement. “I guess I better read this before I sign. How does this work? Is this hourly or flat fee?”
    â€œFifty bucks an hour plus expenses,” I said. “I’ll submit a written report once a week. We can touch base by phoneas often as you like. The agreement authorizes my services and expenditures up to five thousand dollars. Anything beyond that, we’ll discuss if the time comes. You may decide you don’t want to proceed, and if so, that’s the end of it.”
    â€œYou’ll probably need an advance. Isn’t that how this is done?”
    â€œGenerally,” I said. We spent a few minutes talking about the particulars while Mace watched the