Free Relative Chaos by Kay Finch Page B

pickup with them
for tomorrow at ten-or in the Dumpster."
    "What Dumpster?" I said.
    "You didn't hear it arrive?" McCall said. "I contacted Republic
Waste. Two hours later, we had our very own Dumpster. Figured we'd
need one."
    "Good thinking," said Featherstone.
    I went to the kitchen window and, in the glow from the floodlight
illuminating the driveway, saw the Dumpster. I moved away from the
window and scanned the empty pantry shelves. Rings from canned
goods marred the shelf liner. Jeez. Why hadn't McCall bleached out
the stains while he was at it?
    He opened a cabinet door next to the refrigerator and addressed
the client. "Here are the essentials you might need during your stay.
A few dishes, glasses, pots. Should tide you over."
    "Great." Featherstone turned to me. "I understand you concentrated on Grandmother's bedroom. If it looks this good-"

    I held up a hand. "Not quite ready for an inspection. Tomorrow. I'm
calling it a night." Now that I knew what McCall was capable of, we
didn't need to work overtime.
    "Sure, sure," Featherstone said. "I understand. How's your aunt
holding up? I noticed cops are still running around her place. Doesn't
seem right to push her out of her house."
    "She's doing fine staying with me," I said, "and she'll be back
home soon."
    "What're the cops doing over there?" Featherstone said.
    "Looking for evidence, I suppose."
    "They find anything?"
    I shrugged. "I'm not in the loop."
    McCall said, "Standard operating procedure, I'd guess. Doesn't
mean they suspect her of anything."
    "I hope not," Featherstone said. "Couldn't find a sweeter lady.
Reminds me of a gal runs errands for us on the set."
    McCall started asking questions then about Featherstone's career
in the movie business. I interrupted long enough to tell them I was
going to head out and that I'd be back around eight in the morning.
McCall said he'd meet me then.
    On the way home, I checked my cell phone, but there were no new
messages. No progress on finding Kevin, or Doug would have called.
    I was glad to see Aunt Millie's Taurus in my driveway but puzzled
by the white Crown Victoria parked out front. I was in no mood for
company. I parked beside the Taurus and climbed out. If Aunt Millie
had invited a friend over, I'd say hi and go on to bed. I hoped Millie
had gotten over our little tiff.
    I entered through the back door into the kitchen. The place smelled
like a bakery, a warm, sweet aroma hovering in the air. I stopped short
at the sight of Detective Troxell sitting at my kitchen table eating a
piece of chocolate cake. She wore a long-sleeved white shirt, and a
black tweed jacket hung on the chair behind her.
    Aunt Millie stood at the kitchen counter. "There you are, Poppy.
Glad you made it home before Rae had to leave."
    Rae?
    I waved hello to Troxell, but I couldn't take my eyes off Aunt
Millie, who had flour on her cheek and down the front of her blue paisley blouse. Baking supplies lined the countertop. Baking powder,
soda, salt, cupcake papers, measuring cups, and spoons sat in a mess
of flour and chopped nuts.

    As I scanned the room, I noticed Jett sitting on top of my refrigerator wearing a smug, feline, I'll-sit-wherever-I-want-whenever-I-want
expression.
    A loaf of something-banana nut bread, if I had to guess-sat on
a cooling rack next to a mound of freshly baked peanut butter cookies. Millie picked up a mixing bowl and stirred vigorously as she
turned to me. "You always work this late?"
    "No. Aunt Millie, what's going on here? You holding a bake sale
you forgot to mention?"
    "No, silly. I always bake when I'm nervous."
    I knew that, but what was she nervous about? I looked at Troxell.
Had she already discovered something about Kevin?
    "Your aunt bakes a mean chocolate cake," Troxell said.
    "Yes, she does." I slid my gaze over to the kitchen desk where
framed pictures of Kevin sat next to today's mail. I placed my purse
in front of the photos. "Did you need to see me,