Free Trespass by Marla Madison

idea to bring it up; he wouldn’t have told her jack. It made sense that a case involving the possible murder of a young girl would take precedence over one that the evidence pointed to as accidental. Of course, if what she read about the Chapman case was accurate, that one might go on the books as accidental too. It might be a sore spot.
    She returned to her post at the back of the church just in time to see a woman standing barely inside the door, obviously trying not to be seen. In dark glasses, with a heavy, black lace veil covering her face and hair, it was hard to see her features. TJ found a strategic spot and got her on camera. Close enough to watch her quick exit, TJ waited a moment then followed the woman as she walked out to her car, a late-model Lexus SUV. As the woman drove out of the parking lot, TJ stood on the sidewalk next to the driveway, camera posed. When the car passed, TJ noticed two things: the woman’s hair, with the veil off, was dark brown with a heavy white streak on one side, and she held a handkerchief to her face. Interesting. She wouldn’t be hard to identify, but what was her relationship to Teschler? TJ shot a snap of the car’s license as the Lexus pulled away from the church.
     
    TJ met Gemma at the luncheon, her camera still in place as she watched for faces that hadn’t been at the church. Gemma, conservatively dressed in low-heeled pumps and a conservative long black dress that did little to hide her amazing figure, had her hair in a tight French knot with a tiny black hat perched above it. The woman was a knockout, even in her mourning garb.
    TJ took her aside. “Do you know all these people?”
    “I know everyone who’s associated with the agency and most of the clients. A lot of the others are neighbors. Norman lived in that house for nearly twenty-five years, so he knew everyone in the immediate area. I haven’t met too many of them.” When TJ frowned, she added, “I can introduce you to someone who does know everyone.”
    Billie Jean Jennings looked intrigued when Gemma explained what they needed. After Gemma left to greet some newcomers, Billie Jean turned to TJ. “I’ve never met a private investigator before. This is really exciting.” Her brown eyes gleamed over a turned-up nose sprinkled with tiny freckles. She moved closer to TJ. “So they think Norman was murdered?” she whispered.
    “Nah, nothin’ like that. Gemma just wants to be sure. The explosion was probably an accident.”
    Her eyes widened. “But it might not have been, right?”
    TJ resolved to be patient. “Is there a better time we could talk? Not much privacy here, and I’d like you to identify people for me. I have pics,” she explained.
    “I’ll be home all afternoon if you want to stop in.” She handed TJ a card with her name and address printed on the front.
    “You have a minute now to tell me who some of these people are? The ones that live in the neighborhood. Kinda need to know who doesn’t belong.”
    TJ took a few quick notes on some of the names and faces Billie Jean pointed out. Later she would add them to the photos on her laptop, and Billie Jean could fill in the blanks.
     
    Eight doors down from Gemma’s, Billie Jean Jenning’s house was by far the grandest on the block. It was built of aged brick with lovely leaded windows and an entryway of heavy oak with generous glass side panels. The bright fall landscaping it was adorned with looked natural, but even TJ recognized it as a labor of love. A wide array of fall flowers lined the pebbled path to the door and graced the area beneath the bay windows in front of the home.
    Billie Jean answered the door wearing a man’s chambray work shirt, its front covered with both aged and fresh paint stains.
    “Please, come in.” Apologizing for her painting clothes, she led TJ to a room at the back of the house, which she described as her studio “for dabbling.” Facing west, the room captured the last sun of the day and displayed