Free Morning Cup of Murder by Vanessa Gray Bartal

will.”
    He stood straight and so did she. “I should go. I have a full day of meeting my new flock tomorrow.”
    She nodded as if she had any concept of what that meant. To her a day spent meeting strangers sounded like a punishment. “Thanks for supper,” she said.
    “No, thank you,” he said. With a secret smile she didn’t understand, he turned and walked away.
    She stayed on the porch until his car was out of sight, then she let herself in and changed her clothes. After living in New York for three years, she had no shortage of black clothing. She sifted her grandmother’s junk drawer until she located a flashlight, and then she was on her way. The last rays of the sun were just beginning to descend and it was still light outside, so she pretended she was a jogger out for her evening run.
    Ten minutes later, she jogged past Barbara Blake’s house. It looked exactly as it had when she saw it this afternoon- dark and uninhabited. Lacy jogged to the end of the street and stopped, pretending to bend over and check her shoelace. In reality she was surveying the neighborhood.
    From the small, well-kempt houses, she guessed the neighborhood to be full of elderly inhabitants. For her part, that was a very good thing. If her grandmother was any example, older people tended to turn in early and rise almost as soon as the sun was up. That meant that many of the people in this neighborhood were either already in bed or headed there. As if to prove her theory, many of the houses were darkened or had a light only in what appeared to be a bedroom.
    There were a few houses with lighted living rooms, but none was close to Barbara Blake’s house.
    The street was a cul-de-sac, and for that Lacy was thankful. The end of the street behind her was a wooded area. She slowly inched backwards until she faded into the woods, and then she wove sideways until she was parallel with Ms. Blake’s back yard. She had only to creep through two yards until she reached the house in question. Neither house was lit, but Lacy still felt like people were watching her as she darted around any object she could find, stealthily making her way toward her target.
    Not until she reached the back porch did she remember the front door had been the one that was unlocked. But, to her great relief, when she tested the back door, it was also unfettered. She bit her lip as she soundlessly and slowly slid the door open, just wide enough to allow access. After slipping inside, she spent a moment allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim light. She had a flashlight but hoped to get by without using it.
    The back door opened into the kitchen, so that was where she started her search. The room looked un-lived in, with only the barest of necessities such as a handful of plates and dishes. The drawers were mostly empty, making quick work of her search. The next room, the den, was much the same. The furniture was bare bones and dusty, requiring only a quick glance to sweep the entire room. After satisfying herself that there were no hidden closets, she quickly moved on. Next was a bedroom, and it was completely empty.
    Just when Lacy was beginning to feel discouraged, she located the master bedroom--a sharp contrast to the rest of the house. This room was crowded with personal items, and it was clear that someone had been living here. Lacy’s heart beat hard with anticipation as she began slowly sifting the contents of the room. There was no time to think about the fact that she was touching a dead woman’s things. Instead, she focused on her task. She would deal with any ethical repercussions later.
    The first thing she noticed was that Barbara Blake had expensive taste. Lacy didn’t know much about the large pile of jewelry sitting on the dresser, but she thought some of it might be worth something. However, years of living in the fashion capitol of the United States had taught her a lot about labels. If the labels in Ms. Blake’s closet were any indication, she was