Free 7 Madness in Miniature by Margaret Grace

investigation, which thrilled her. I was proud of her, but also worried that she was headed for a life of crime. Crime fighting, that is. It was enough to worry about my nephew in his professional role; in my dreams my granddaughter was in a much less hazardous occupation. Like building dollhouses, for example.
    “Uncle Skip is busy with his job,” I said.
    “Anything I can help with?”
    “I’m sure he’ll call you if he needs you. Don’t you have a book to read for school?”
    “I thought the case might be about the man who died in the earthquake.”
    “What man?” A lame response but I’d been startled by Maddie’s remark. Had my granddaughter been eavesdropping last night? It wouldn’t have been the first time, but generally she made an appearance eventually when she heard something interesting and wanted in.
    “It’s on the Internet. It said a man in Lincoln Point was killed when a big vase fell on him. That must have been awful.”
    A vase was the murder weapon? Maddie already knew more than I did. Maybe Internet news, rather than via a cop nephew, was the way to get information. “Did they say how he died?” I asked her, wondering if the word “murder” had come up.
    “I told you. A big vase fell on his head. From the earthquake. That’s why I was confused. If it was an accident then Uncle Skip wouldn’t have anything to investigate, right, Grandma?”
    “If it was an accident, that’s right.”
    “Hmm,” Maddie said. “You’re making it sound like it wasn’t an accident.”
    “You know, we should check our earthquake kits,” I said.
    “Grandma, you’re not answering me.” She paused. “Oh, never mind. Let’s check our kits and then if we need supplies we can go downtown and buy them.”
    Downtown, where the action was. How had I allowed this to happen? What normal eleven-year-old would rather see crime scene tape than visit a theme park? On the other hand, her grandmother had the same preference.
    Dum dum, da da dum, da da dum.
    My cell phone, a Sousa march programmed by Maddie in honor of the next holiday, the Fourth of July. I was treated to (or subjected to, depending on her choice) a new ring tone whenever she felt the need to fiddle with a mobile device.
    “Mrs. Porter? This is Jeff Slattery. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you or talked to you.”
    Video Jeff, Bebe’s kid brother. “Jeff, of course. Congratulations on the new look for your shop. I’ve only seen the outside, but I can tell that you’ve put a lot of work into it.”
    “Yeah, thanks. I guess it looks less like a dive now, huh?” Close to what I was thinking, but no need for me to confirm it. “Mrs. Porter, the police have picked up Bebe. They didn’t say it but I know they think my sister killed Palmer.”
    Jeff sounded fraught with worry. I didn’t know him or his store very well. I’d had him as a student only in a freshman composition class, and hardly ever set foot in his arcade. I felt a massive pang of guilt—wasn’t I the one who’d steered Skip toward a disgruntled Bebe?
    “I’m sure they’re questioning anyone who had anything to do with Craig Palmer and all the negotiations for the store.”
    “I don’t know. They went to her house early this morning. She called me about eight o’clock.”
    “Have they actually arrested her?”
    “I don’t think so. They let her call me and I saw her for a couple of minutes. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
    “It sounds good,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing.
    “But they’re saying she can’t go home yet. I know you’re connected to the police department.” At that moment I wished Skip could have heard this confirmation that my so-called claim to fame in town was due to him. “Is that normal procedure?” Jeff asked.
    Only if they expected to find something within a certain time frame that I couldn’t remember. I tried to recall Skip’s tutorials. Twenty-four hours? Or was it forty-eight, and then they had to release a