Free Suspicion of Innocence by Barbara Parker Page B

didn't know who Irene Strickland Connor was, then she would have referred him to the Mayor of Miami. They might not pay attention to every distraught mother, but they had to this one.
    A few years ago Gail had come by Irene's for lunch and had found her at the kitchen table, thumbing through a brochure for burglar bars. This in a walled neighborhood with a guard house and security patrols. Gail had been mystified until she remembered Irene was due for minor surgery the next week. Irene had come out of the hospital; the bars had never been installed.
    Gail berated herself for having let three days go by since she had last seen her mother. But the days were a blur; she could barely remember any of them.  
    She got up and crossed to the window ledge, where Jimmy Panther had left his teacup. She picked it up. He had said Renee promised to bring the clay deer mask to him last week. That could show something about her state of mind, if he was telling the truth. If. Jimmy Panther could say what he wanted. And Renee had a history of forgotten promises. Gail tossed the cup into her trash basket.
     
     
     

 
    Four
     
     
    Irene Strickland Connor lived in a subdivision a few miles north of downtown called Belle Mar whose homes ranged from twenties Mediterranean to ultramodern glass and soaring wood. At the main entrance, Gail put on her blinker and turned from Biscayne Boulevard onto Seagrape Lane. The smaller street, bordered with royal palms and flowering hibiscus, divided at a tiny guardhouse. Ten years ago, nervous about civil disturbances and immigration, the residents had put up an eight-foot-high security wall.
    "Open the gate, sweetie," Gail said to Karen. The girl sat in the passenger seat of the Buick with a gate opener pointed at the striped barrier across the road. She pressed a button and the wooden arm swung upward.
    Karen closed her geography book, which she had been reading on her lap.
    "Did you finish the chapter?"
    "Almost." Karen leaned over to put the book in her book bag.
    "Almost?" Gail slowed over a speed bump. "You won't keep your A's that way. You can finish it while I'm talking to your grandma, all right?"
    Ben had called her at work that afternoon. He had prepared the estate papers for Irene's signature and wanted Gail to notarize them. He had insisted: No, no, I don't want to hear you 're too busy. Bring Dave. We’ll all have dinner together. Besides, Irene says she hasn't seen you all week. Trust Irene for melodrama. Gail had seen her three days ago.
    Seagrape Lane meandered past Banyan, Bottlebrush, and Jacaranda and finally ended in a circle. Gail pulled into Irene's driveway, tires crunching on acorns from the overhanging oak tree. The house was a rambling one-story with a facade of old brick and a white tile roof darkened with mildew. An orange cat sprawled on the porch, licking its paws. A tabby watched them from a window ledge.
    At the front door Gail used her own key, letting herself into the foyer. Karen followed, her school bag bumping past the screen door, which banged shut behind them. The painted metal decoration on it—a flamingo—rattled on loosened rivets.
    "Irene! It's us!"
    After a second, a muffled voice called out, "In the kitchen."
    Gail found her pulling plastic containers and foil-wrapped plates from the refrigerator.
    "You're early," Irene said. She set a casserole on the table, the glass lid clanking. "I was going to have dinner all ready for you, and here you are." Her voice was husky enough to make Gail wonder how much she had had to drink.
    Karen dropped her book bag in a chair. "Hey, Gramma."
    Leaving the refrigerator door wide open, Irene held out her arms. "Come here, precious." She enveloped the girl in a hug. "My goodness, you're so big."
    Karen's face was buried for a moment in Irene's flowered blouse. Gail noticed the rest of her outfit—parrot-green slacks and gold leather sandals studded with rhinestones. A scarf ran through her red curls, a perky bow tied behind