Free Death Under Glass by Jennifer McAndrews

out with his bookkeeping. You might want to stop into his office next time you go to town.”
    Oh, mercy. Next thing I know Grandy will be trying to set me up on dates. “Thanks, Grandy, but—”
    â€œI’m not doing you any favors,” he grumbled. “He can’t keep up with his own billing. I haven’t seen a single notice for the work he did for me, and you need to keep your skills sharp. Talk to him.”
    Talk to him. Drew Able, Esquire. The lawyer.
    Grabbing the pitcher with my free hand, I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”
    Maybe not about a job. But definitely about why someone stood to gain by burning down a law office.

6
    â€œA nd I ended up agreeing to talk to Drew tomorrow,” I concluded. I sat back in my chair and finally took a bite from the slice of sharp cheddar I’d been holding since I started the story.
    Sunset had done little to ease the heat of the day, and Carrie, Diana, and I gathered gratefully in Carrie’s air-conditioned apartment, sprawled on mismatched but cleverly coordinated furniture from bygone days, and snacking on cheese and crackers until it was time to leave for the monthly town meeting.
    Diana shook her head in mock amazement, her long dark hair scraping the back of her Pace County PD T-shirt. “Your granddad’s a hoot,” she said. “Was he always like that? I can’t remember.”
    By some measurements, Diana and I had known oneanother our whole lives. By other, more accurate measurements, we had been childhood friends turned enemies during one of my years in Wenwood and had happily lost touch until adulthood and maturity and Grandy being accused of murder brought us back together. As neither Diana nor I had any immediate plans to try out for a cheerleading squad or become part of a chicky clique, this time around our friendship stood a better chance of lasting.
    â€œI’m pretty sure Grandy has always been the same,” I said.
    â€œSomewhere at the crossroads of stern and sweet and scary and teddy bear,” Carrie put in, pushing to her feet. “Can I get anyone a refill?”
    Diana asked for a little more water and I declined. “You sure? No more tea?” Eyes on me, she circled around the back of her chair.
    My “I’m sure” was cut short by Carrie’s “Yeouch!”
    â€œWhat happened?” Diana asked.
    â€œYou okay?” I asked.
    I pushed to the edge of my chair, ready to leap up and assist. Diana, police officer’s reflexes clearly sharper honed than mine, was already on her feet and moving toward Carrie.
    â€œThis stupid box.” With the side of her foot, Carrie kicked a large carton out from behind her chair and turned it so the carton tucked beside the chair, a toe-sized dent showing beneath the diamond-shaped U-Move-It logo. She looked over her shoulder at Diana. “I can’t wait until you guys find my ex-husband and I can get rid of this stuff. I spent enough years tripping over that man’s junk.”
    She continued on through the living room and into the galley kitchen.
    â€œWhat’s in the box?” Diana asked.
    I sighed. “Who knows? Some stuff Russ’s admin had. She said she didn’t have room in her apartment for it.” I waved a hand to encompass Carrie’s supply-closet-sized space. “Because this is palatial.”
    Eyebrows lowered, Diana edged toward the carton. “This is Russ’s? Russ Stanford’s? The guy whose business got torched? And you didn’t look?”
    I searched for words, suddenly tongue-tied by my own foolishness. We hadn’t looked inside the box, nor the shopping bag. We’d taken Melanie on faith that the contents consisted of useless scraps from a deceased individual’s estate.
    â€œCarrie,” I called, standing. “Did you look inside this box?”
    From the kitchen came the clatter of ice hitting the