Free A Crazy Little Thing Called Death by Nancy Martin

already, now we’ve got Emma to worry about!”
    I forgot about the thoughts that tumbled around in my head, and finally tried to focus on Libby’s latest rant. “We have to worry about Em? She hasn’t been drinking. I thought she looked pretty good.”
    “Of course she looks good! That’s what an active sex life can do for a woman! She’s walking proof of the benefits of estrogen surges.”
    “So what’s the problem?”
    “You heard her phone call! What is she doing?”
    “Libby, I’m sure what we heard was nothing more than—”
    “Than Emma making appointments to see men! Late at night! Alone! For money!”
    “Calm down. Emma may have a healthy libido, but she wouldn’t do anything—well, tacky.”
    “Oh, no?”
    “No. Of course not. Look, don’t blow a simple phone call out of proportion. She was probably just joking.”
    We arrived at the farm, and Libby left Lucy dozing in the backseat while she came inside to collect the rest of her family. With a great martyr’s intake of air, she gathered her courage and went down to the basement to tell the twins it was time to pack up their fetal pig and go home.
    While Libby negotiated with her mad scientists, I talked to Rawlins for a few minutes in the kitchen. At seventeen, he had finally gotten through the long period of wearing black clothes and facial piercings. Now he could hold an intelligent conversation with an adult, if necessary. And he seemed surprisingly comfortable babysitting his infant brother, Maximus.
    Maybe because of losing my own baby, I hadn’t bonded with Maximus as I had with my other nephews. Rawlins seemed uncannily aware of my reluctance to hold the baby, and he managed not to drop his little brother while dealing himself a hand of playing cards.
    I fondled the sleeping baby’s hair. “How’s the poker coming?”
    “I think I’m ready to play a hand. Want to try me?”
    I gave my nephew a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll wait until you have some experience. When I clean out your bank account, I want to do it with a clear conscience. Are the twins under control?”
    “I didn’t have to break out the straitjackets. They’re busy playing with their new pet. Only Harcourt and Hilton could love a dead animal, right? You okay? Mom called on her cell to tell me about Thing.”
    “Thing?”
    “You know, the hand.” He held his own hand up to show me and wiggled all his fingers. “Pretty gross, Aunt Nora.”
    “Very gross.” I sat down at the table.
    “Oh, and your editor called, too. Mr. Rosencrantz?”
    “Stan Rosenstatz. What did he have to say?”
    Rawlins screwed up his face to remember. “He wanted to know if you’d call the city desk. Something about contributing to a news story. Does that make sense?”
    I nodded. Of course, the story of Penny Devine’s death was going to hit the media very big. The Philadelphia Intelligencer didn’t often have the inside track on breaking stories, but this time the reporters had an eyewitness to the whole thing—me. But I was also connected to the family, which made me hesitate. What were the journalistic rules in this case? Did I have to talk to my fellow reporters?
    While Rawlins rocked the baby, I picked up the phone and called Stan to ask him.
    “Of course you don’t have to answer their questions,” my editor said. “But I figured maybe you’d want to contribute to the story. You know, to give yourself a little career boost.”
    Judging by Stan’s tone, I guessed my career in journalism was once again in need of such a boost. I’d been hired by the previous owner of the paper, and lately I was receiving more and more hints that the industry cutbacks might soon include me, too. Nobody’s job was safe anymore.
    I thanked Stan and hung up, still not sure I wanted to talk to the press—even if it meant getting my byline on the front page. After I put the receiver down, I realized I should have asked Stan if there was a company policy about returning bribes. I had Potty’s