Free A Crazy Little Thing Called Death by Nancy Martin Page B

miscarrying on a night that was among the worst of my life. Since then, I’d alternately tried to shove all thoughts of that lost child out of my mind or found myself listening to a whispering inner voice. It had been my fault that the baby died. I should have been more careful. I should have protected my child.
    I had long wanted children of my own. The need tugged at my heart so hard it sometimes hurt. It was Michael’s wish, too, to have kids. I knew we were both trying to do the same thing—create a family because the ones we’d been born with hadn’t fit the bill. That desire was perhaps what had first drawn us together. And since then, I often felt as if we kept coming back to each other because a happy future with children was what we both wanted most.
    But with Raphael Braga in town, things were even more complicated.
    Michael phoned around seven with apologies that he wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.
    “Are you still with the police?” I sat on my bed, having changed into jeans and a sweater. I pulled my loafers on as we spoke.
    “No, they turned me loose about an hour ago. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine.”
    “You talked with Detective Gloom, I hear. Did he ask you for a date?”
    I heard the amusement in Michael’s voice. “Detective Bloom was pretty much all business.”
    “Did he warn you about me?”
    “Yes,” I said. “You’re still America’s Most Wanted.”
    “And he’ll never quit hoping he can be the one to send me to jail again.”
    My heart contracted. “Michael—”
    “Sorry,” he said at once. Then, “He’s got a thing for you.”
    “Not anymore.”
    “No?”
    “Today he seemed more interested in the Devine family.”
    “Good thing. His department’s had budget cuts. And his boss doesn’t like him. If he doesn’t take care of business, he might lose his job.”
    I said, “Where did you hear that?”
    “Around.” Michael had ways of learning inside information that sometimes put Detective Bloom to shame. “He’s got to prove his worth. And fast. So it’s no wonder he’s concentrating on the case. Did he ask you a bunch of questions?”
    “About the hand we found? Yes. Did you hear anything about it? Do the police have any theories?”
    “Plenty. They all seem to involve a dead movie star. They assume we found what’s left of Penny Devine.”
    “Michael,” I said slowly, “when we found her—it—whatever—did you notice any—well, freezer burn?”
    A short silence. “You’re kidding, right?”
    “It’s just a question the twins asked.”
    He laughed. “Consider the source!”
    “It got me thinking….”
    “Nora, sweetheart, please, this is a case for the police to solve. I think you can safely forget about it, okay?”
    “But—”
    “Don’t do this to yourself. Let the police take care of it. Hell, you’ll be giving Gloom some job security.”
    “I thought I might be helpful.”
    “The person you need to help most right now is yourself. Take the night off, why don’t you? Have you had anything to eat?”
    I hadn’t been able to choke down the pizza I’d ordered for the twins. “The idea of food isn’t very appealing since our afternoon discovery.”
    “I hear you. Well, get into the bathtub and read a book. Relax. I’ll be home soon, but I’ve got some things to take care of first.”
    I thought of Ben Bloom’s warning that the Abruzzos were having some family problems. “Anything I should know about?”
    “Not unless you’re interested in changing the oil in a couple of cars. I’m sending some vehicles down to the muscle car auction this weekend.”
    “That’s what you’re doing? Working on cars?”
    “And a few other things. Spending the afternoon with your pal Bloom put me behind the eight ball.”
    Michael ran several businesses now, and all of them required his frequent supervision. His chain of gas stations, Gas N Grub, were popping up all over Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware so fast, I couldn’t keep track