Free Death at the Day Lily Cafe by Wendy Sand Eckel Page A

behind bars had helped her grieve in peace. And although she would never be the same—what mother could?—she believed my solving the crime had enabled her to continue living.
    When I arrived at Lori’s, I switched off the engine and attempted to get out of my car. A black Lab’s massive paws were on my door and he was trying with some success to duck his boxy head through the open window. “Sit,” I said in a less-than-convincing voice. He leaned in and slurped my ear. After checking to ensure he hadn’t swallowed my pearl earring, I forced open the door. Five wagging tails thrashed my legs, and I almost tripped over a yipping Yorkshire terrier.
    I noticed a shiny red Camaro parked next to Lori’s van as I walked, doing my best to avoid stepping on tails and paws. I looked up to see Lori at the screen door. “Sorry about the welcoming committee,” she said. “I think they are a little attention starved now that Carl James is gone.” She opened the door a crack. “Sit,” she said, and all five dogs simultaneously perched on their hindquarters.
    â€œThey’re just enthusiastic,” I said. “I may need a navigation system to get to your door, but I actually love dogs. Please don’t worry about them.”
    She opened the door wider, and I stepped inside.
    â€œLet’s go out to the screened porch,” she said. “I hate being in this house ever since Carl James died.”
    The porch looked out onto a densely wooded lot, the setting sun barely peeking through the trees. Plants on stands and in a variety of pots lined the floor. A hodgepodge of dog beds, some held together with strips of duct tape, were piled in the corner. The musty scent of wet fur lingered in the humid air.
    We sat on an old wood-framed sofa. A small lamp lit the room, its yellow bulb giving everything a jaundiced tint. She was dressed in a housecoat. Her hair was piled on top of her head and some sort of heavy cream glazed her face.
    â€œLori, do you have a job to go back to?” I turned to face her.
    She shrugged. “I clean houses.” She smoothed the cotton smock over her knees. “I think my clients understand I need time to grieve.”
    The dogs discovered us and began lunging at the door. I noticed several rips in the screen and wondered if they would eventually burst through.
    â€œSit,” she said again. Their bottoms hit the grass.
    â€œYou can let them in,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
    â€œNo. They will overwhelm you. I know there are a lot of them. But they just sort of accumulated. I have no idea where the Yorkie came from. I think someone dropped her off because they knew we’d take care of her.”
    â€œIt’s really nice that you do. The Devon County shelter is overflowing.” I studied her face. “How are you, Lori?”
    She eyed me. “I think I see him sometimes, in the shadows of this house. And when I go to bed I can smell the faint scent of his cigar.” She gripped her hands together. “It’s as if he’s haunting me.”
    â€œHe lived here,” I said. “This was his home. And you anchored him. Maybe he isn’t quite ready to leave you.”
    â€œIs that how it works? If so,” she said, shivering, “I don’t like it one bit.”
    â€œI don’t really know how it works.” I rested my elbow on the back of the sofa. “But maybe he’s trying to help you figure out who really killed him.”
    â€œWell, I’m not listening, so he can go on to the afterlife.” She stared out at the darkening night. “Why did you want my yearbooks?”
    â€œI was just wondering if you and Joe Wilgus went to school together.”
    â€œHow did you know that?” She looked over at me and frowned.
    â€œWell, you appear to be about the same age, and according to Doris, his dislike of CJ started a long time ago.” I shrugged. “It