Free Murder in a Nice Neighborhood by Lora Roberts Page A

solicitously. They weren’t, of course. Delores had some of those excellent goggles. Her eyeballs stayed gloriously white when she swam, unlike mine.
    “Are they?” She peered at her reflection in the shiny glass door of the ice-cream cooler. “Oh dear. I’m meeting someone for lunch, and I don’t want to look like I stayed up all night.” She patted at her hair. “Well, Ted will understand. He swims, too.” I felt again that unsettling mixture of guilt for having her on, and sneaking satisfaction that she was so easy to gull. “How is your class going?” She smiled kindly at me, working from the script that all those popular people have, the one that tells them to ask about the interests of others. “I’ve got more of those old dears than ever in my financial planning seminar.”
    “I’m doing fine.” Delores looked understanding; she must have noticed that my attendance was down from the first quarter I took the writing workshop. It was all right with me; the ones who stuck with me were really interested in working, and the dilettantes had dropped out. The bad angel in my left brain drove me to add, “It’s you I worry about. Isn’t Federated Savings being investigated by the IRS?”
    Delores looked horrified. “Oh, no! It’s not true at all!” She grabbed my arm. “Where did you hear that?”
    “I think it was on the radio or something.” She was so worried by the rumor that my good, right-brain angel wanted me to confess I’d made it up, but that would have involved tedious and uncomfortable explanations. I wanted to get back to Claudia’s, have lunch and a cup of tea, maybe sample that ice cream before starting to work.
    “Federated is one of the healthiest S&L’s in the business,” Delores assured me earnestly.
    “If you say so.” I made a private resolve not to have any more of these conversations with Delores, not to pull her credulous leg again. “Got to get this ice cream home.”
    Delores moved in the opposite direction, but I caught her questioning glance back at me as I rounded the aisle. No doubt she’d remembered that I didn’t have a home.
    The groceries in my cart cost more than I spent in a month for food. The bill seemed extravagant, and yet it wasn’t out of the range Claudia had set. Perhaps, if I stayed at her place more than a few days, I would treat her to cuisine à la vagabond, where the flavor of the food is intensified by the effort it takes to collect it.
    I was planning to call the police department, to tell Drake or Morales where they could find me for the next few days. That little task was not necessary, though. Drake was leaning against my bus when I came out of the store. His manner was idle, even proprietary. Not, this morning, threatening.
    “Ms. Sullivan.” He greeted me matter-of-factly, watching while I stowed the grocery bags away. “Did you rob a bank?”
    “Just working for a living,” I said, facing him. Delores Mitchell climbed into her BMW three cars down. She watched curiously, making a big production out of finding her sunglasses.
    “Are you going to stay at Biddy’s, or are you going to the Carver Arms?” Drake sounded relaxed, but his smile was tight.
    “Neither.” I fished a notebook out of my bag and scribbled Claudia’s address on it. “I’m parking here, around the back. There’s a phone, too, if you need to get in touch with me. Claudia Kaplan.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Mrs. Kaplan is a friend of yours?”
    “Not exactly.” From his expression, he’d tangled with Claudia a time or two. “She needs help in her garden, and inthe house. With luck, you’ll have cleared up this whole mess before I’m finished there.”
    “With luck, you won’t have a new address at the county’s expense,” he said mildly.
    I didn’t like to think about that. “Have you found out anything more?” I kept my notebook open, just in case he decided to shake some information loose. Delores Mitchell drove slowly past us and out of the