Free Trouble in a Big Box (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) by Judy Alter Page A

features writer I knew casually who had helped me once before. When I outlined my request, she laughed and said, “You do come up with the strangest requests, Kelly. Sure, I’ll see what I can find and email you. Give me your email again.”
    Good as her word, she was back to me with some information before I left to get the girls. Rosalinda Garza was the daughter of a single mother, Lola Garza. A quick look at the phone book showed only one Lola Garza on the near North Side. I resolved to pay a sympathy call the next day and thought that maybe a Ranch Oak spiral cut ham would make a good gift. I admitted to myself that over a month later was a bit late for a sympathy call, not to mention the traditional gift of food. But I guess I was imagining that Mrs. Garza could use a little extra food. Martha’s email indicated that Rosalinda had three brothers and a twin sister. The latter bit of information gave me a real stab in the heart.
    I ordered the ham, to be picked up the next morning at nine, and went to get the girls, admittedly feeling a bit righteous. No, I did not tell Keisha, Buck Conroy, or Mike what I was planning to do. Sometimes I’m a bit slow to learn life’s lessons.
    For once, Mike didn’t ask, “What are you hiding from me?” He and the girls seemed completely oblivious to the fact that I had a secret plan, although I usually wore such plans plastered on my face like a poster shouting, “Ask me what I’m about to do.”
    We had a peaceful evening—I grilled hamburgers that Mike said were almost as good as his, the girls did their homework without protest, and when they were settled in bed with their books and a fifteen-minute warning, I helped Mike with his stretching exercises. He was frustrated—and a bit grouchy—because he wasn’t making progress as fast as he wanted. I pointed out it was only five weeks, and he was beginning to bear a little weight on that leg. He refused to take walks, although they were recommended, because he wasn’t going to be seen in “his” neighborhood on a walker. Pointing out that he was a non-cooperative patient didn’t help. Lately at therapy sessions they’d been keeping him longer to make him walk the track, which he could do with his walker and about half his weight on his bad leg. I suggested he ride the stationary bike in the garage, but he pointed out that he hadn’t been okayed to use it yet.
    “Well, ask about the bike. You could go out the front door to the apartment. See, isn’t it a good thing Keisha didn’t move in there?”
    He gave me a dark look, and I subsided. Mike, I had discovered, was not an easy patient. Men never are, but somehow I expected more of him, too much probably since he was almost always good-natured and easygoing. Only a few things could push his buttons, but being handicapped was one of them. He itched to get back to work, even if it was a desk job. “I’d answer the damn phones,” he exploded.
    The next morning I kissed him goodbye and told him I’d see him at noon, even suggested we go to the Grill for a change. It wasn’t a therapy day, so I had the morning free. I walked the girls into their classrooms and hugged them goodbye—Em would still kiss me, but Maggie was beyond that—and left for the North Side with a light heart.
    Keisha was the only fly in my ointment. When I ran by the office, she asked, “You’re going to be out of the office why? ”
    “I’m going to pay a sympathy call on Rosalinda Garza’s family. But don’t tell Mike.”
    “The minute you say don’t tell Mike, my radar goes into overdrive. Just what do you think you’ll accomplish?”
    “I want to find out who’s stalking us.”
    “And you think one of them is going to come right out and say, ‘Yeah, I been following you’?”
    I didn’t know what I expected but I didn’t tell Keisha that. Just told her to be sure to watch for calls from Christian or Tom Lattimore , and I’d be back before lunch.
    “Don’t you bother yourself