Free Tippy Toe Murder by Leslie Meier

Projects she had
planned now seemed too ambitious. Building a gazebo, for example, seemed such a
big job. What if she fell off the ladder? Wouldn’t she feel like a fool then!
    So she would read the newspaper, and then
probably she would pick up a book. When she tired of reading, she would turn on
the TV. She refused to watch soap operas, but some of the talk shows were
really quite interesting. People who communicated with the spirit world, people
who had sex-change operations, women who had other people’s babies—this was a
strange new world indeed. Caro found she couldn’t resist the tearful
confessions and scandalous revelations that filled the afternoon airwaves.
    Perhaps one day she would be on one of
those shows, she thought, glancing at her small companion. I was a kidnapper,
she would tell the audience. I chose to disappear and start a whole new life, a
life I never thought I could have, she would say to Oprah, or Phil, or even
Geraldo. Their eyebrows would rise in astonishment as she outlined the plans
she had made and the precautions she had taken.
    It was simple, she would tell them. I first
got the idea when I read about a woman who went into a shopping mall and never
came out. She just disappeared, leaving her husband waiting in the parked car.
It’s easy for a woman of a certain age to disappear, she would explain, because
no one is really interested in finding her.
    Of course, her young companion was a
different case. Someone was very interested in finding her, but if everything
went according to plan, he wouldn’t. Glancing at the little girl seated beside
her, with her blond bangs and freckled nose, and skinny, knobby knees, Caro
felt a stab of emotion so sharp that it was almost physically painful. Even
though it had been a very long time since she’d felt a similar sensation, she
recognized it as love. Oh my, she thought.
    “Are we almost there?” asked the little
girl, stirring restlessly.
    “Almost,” she answered, flipping the turn
signal and heading off the highway. “Now, what’s your name?”
    “Lisa,” recited the child obediently.
    “Good. And who am I?”
    “You’re my grandmother.”
    “And why aren’t you with your parents?”
    “My parents are taking a vacation in
Europe, so I’m spending the summer with you in Maine.”
    “Perfect. Be sure to say it exactly like
that. Any mistakes will mean big trouble.”
    The little girl nodded soberly. Then she
shivered. She was dressed only in shorts and a thin shirt.
    Caro pulled the car over to the side of the
road and braked. She reached for the stadium blanket she kept in the back seat
and arranged it over the little girl.
    “How old are you?” she asked.
    “I’m seven.”
    “Somehow you seem older,” she said. “Is
that better? It’s not much farther, I promise.”
    She pulled back onto the road and followed
the familiar route, surprised that even though she hadn’t been in this part of
the state for many years, very little had changed. She felt reassured. The plan
was good. She had gone over it time and time again. It would work, it had to
work.
    She brushed aside thoughts of George—the
dear, stupid, doggy beast. She knew her absence would shatter him, temporarily,
until he forgot her. But the neighbors were all kind, and she didn’t doubt for
a minute that someone would adopt him. Besides, who was more important—an
animal or a person? Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel and she glanced
at Lisa. She smiled. The little girl was fast asleep.

9
     
    Hair in bun with
hair net.
     
    At ten to nine, Kitty Slack was already
tired. She’d been up since five and was beginning to run out of energy, so she
sat herself down for a minute on the hall stairs. She perched Morrill’s straw
hat on her knees and waited.
    As soon as she heard the latch on the
downstairs bathroom door click, she jumped to her feet. Morrill emerged, took
his hat and set it on his head, gave her a formal peck on the cheek, and
marched stiffly