Free A Job to Kill For by Janice Kaplan

a good girl,” I said. “She’d never steal. She probably brushed past those earrings and they fell into her bag.”
    Ashley beamed, her sobs turned off as quickly as a TV in an electric storm.
    I conferred a few more minutes with Joey Tartufo and signed two papers.
    “That’s all,” Joey said to the girls. “But please stay away from the store for a while, okay?”
    “Unconstitutional! We have first amendment rights!” cried Tara as she headed to the door. But she didn’t wait around to discuss them.
    Back on the street a moment later, the girls scurried a few feet ahead of me, whispering to each other and giggling. I stared at the small Prada backpack slung over my daughter’s shoulders and then stopped in my tracks. I felt my stomach turning upside down. Or maybe that was my heart.
    “Girls, come over here,” I called out. I edged under the awning of a store, out of the way and out of the sun. Ashley and Tara exchanged glances but joined me.
    “I have a few questions and I want some straight answers,” I said. “To start, what are you two doing in Beverly Hills?”
    “I had an appointment with the dermatologist, and Ashley decided to come,” Tara replied.
    The dermatologist? Nothing for a skin doctor to do on Tara other than let her sit in the waiting room so other patients could admire her smooth porcelain complexion. Though I’d consider it false advertising.
    “How did you get here?” I asked, not letting up.
    “My mom dropped us off,” Tara said. “She wanted to Zen out for a couple of hours, so she went for a massage. Some fancy day spa. I knew she’d turn off her cell phone, which is why the security guy called you.”
    Okay, not impressed. Tara’s mother let two teenage girls wander aimlessly while a stranger rubbed oil into her back. But I lost some parenting points, too. With school closed for Faculty Planning Day (a day off to plan more days off ), Ashley had agreed to catch up on French homework and read Pride and Prejudice. I wouldn’t let her watch the miniseries instead—even though Colin Firth made a darn cute Mr. Darcy.
    I cleared my throat, getting myself back on track.
    “So you found yourselves bored in Beverly Hills and decided to give shoplifting a try. Is that correct?” I kept my voice even. If I turned judgmental, the information spigot would close.
    “Not correct,” said Ashley. “I’m innocent.”
    I went over and tapped the top of her tiny pack. “This isn’t the big North Face you take to school that’s always gaping wide. This one’s miniature.” I pulled the zipper. “It’s not likely that earrings would fall off a display into a two-inch opening.”
    Ashley exchanged a look with Tara.
    “You’re a good detective, Mrs. Fields,” Tara said, tugging self-consciously at the bottom of her pink cotton sweater.
    I eyed her critically. “Why don’t you take off the sweater,” I suggested. “It’s warm enough.”
    She shrugged and pulled off the top, revealing a ruched and ruffled scoop-neck T-shirt underneath. If that didn’t belong on the shelves of Anthropologie, I’d eat my vintage cashmere.
    Now Ashley started giggling. She covered her mouth, but the laughs turned to guffaws.
    “You had the shirt on the whole time and that Joey dude never guessed,” said Ashley. “How hysterical is that.”
    “You just have to know how to stay cool,” said Tara, dropping her previous posturing. She reached over and locked pinkies with Ashley. “We did it. Girlfriend bond.”
    “We did it, but it almost fell apart,” said Ashley. “You said if anything happened, you’d get us off by spouting legal stuff and talking about your dad.”
    “Instead, you talked about your dad,” said Tara, giggling. “So brilliant. Plus all the sobbing. Omigod, Ashley, I almost believed you myself.”
    The pretense of innocence gone, Ashley’s face glowed in triumph. Maybe the girls had forgotten that I was standing there or figured I wouldn’t care. But I did.
    “You