Free Organized to Death by Jan Christensen

dinner cooked.
    “Well, I hope he’s okay,” Tina said, a bit worried although Uncle Bob did frequently complain of stomach pains. He’d been checked out thoroughly years ago. Maybe it was time to do it again. “When did he start with this trouble with his stomach, anyway? Seems he’s had it ever since I can remember.”
    Laura shrugged. “He was this way when he moved in with us. I’ve always thought it was either something he ate or nerves, or a little of both. Now I’m not so sure. What’s he got to be nervous about? And sometimes he eats something and gets sick; other times he eats the same thing with no problem.”
    “Maybe he should see a doctor. When was the last time he did that?”
    “Oh, years ago.” Laura wiped the scrubbed potatoes with a paper towel and set them at the back of the counter. She went to get a small casserole dish to put the vegetables in to microwave.
    “Maybe he should go again. Maybe they know more now than they did back then.”
    “Good idea. You talk to him. He won’t listen to me.”
    “I will. Any phone calls?”
    “Brandon called, and Hank. And Dr. Hockmann. I feel like a regular receptionist.”
    “Sorry. Maybe I should get my own phone line.”
    Her mother waved her hand at her. “Too much trouble. And boy would that confuse Princess.”
    Tina laughed. The dog thought she should alert Uncle Bob every time the phone rang, even though he never answered it. Poor Uncle Bob had to stop whatever he was doing to see what she was alerting him to. It could be the front door, the smoke alarm, or the carbon dioxide alarm, so he always followed her. Most of the time it was the phone. Tina’s mother was a stickler for safety and had every alarm and alerting device she could buy in the house. Lights flashed when the doorbell or the telephone rang. Since Uncle Bob often burned things, the smoke alarm went off at an alarming rate. Princess was a hard-working dog.
    “Well, just let the answering machine get the phone, then.”
    “Tina, darling, sometimes it is for me, you know.”
    Tina blushed a little. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking. Caller ID?”
    Laura gave her a sour look.
    Tina stood up and the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it.”
    The two police officers who had questioned them when she and Rachel found Crystal stood on the doorstep.
    “We need to talk to you,” Lisbeth said, squaring her shoulders.
    “Come in.” Tina’s throat closed up with fear. What did she have to be afraid of? She didn’t know, but the way they were looking at her, as if she were a bug they wanted to squash, made her nervous.
    “Who is it?” her mother asked, coming into the foyer, wiping her hands on a towel.
    “These are the police… um, people who came to Rachel’s house when Crystal was … “
    Laura looked them both up and down in her most haughty manner. Tina didn’t know whether to be amused or more worried. It didn’t seem like a good idea to tick off the police.
    “And you are here because?” she asked Lisbeth.
    “We have a few questions for your daughter.”
    “I don’t know what she could possibly tell you.”
    “It will only take a few minutes,” John said. “We can do it here or at the station.” He stuck out his weak chin.
    Laura retreated. “Come in, then.” She led them to the living room and sat down on the dark green couch.
    The two officers now stood awkwardly near the doorway. Tina sat down on a chair opposite her mother and looked at them expectantly.
    Finally Lisbeth strode over to the chair opposite Tina and sat down. Her feet barely touched the floor. John remained in the doorway.
    “Tell us what you know about Mrs. Hudson. Any thoughts you might have on why someone would want her dead?” Lisbeth asked, opening her notebook and getting out a pen.
    “You want gossip?” Laura asked before Tina could speak. “You’ve come to the wrong place for that.”
    Tina looked at her mother and put her hand in her pocket to finger the worry stone.
    “I don’t