Free Murder in the Marketplace by Lora Roberts Page A

to call my number to let you know what she decides about the puppy,” Drake said, watching Barker. “Guess it’ll go to the Humane Society.”
    Barker wasn’t listening to this callous disposal of his future. He was too involved in puddling on the floor right in front of the door. I grabbed him and rushed him outside, and Drake followed.
    “Great,” I muttered. “Wonderful beginning to house-training.”
    “Let’s see.” Drake thumbed through his papers. “You met them both this morning. This evening you were there when Jenifer was found dead. Anything else I need to know about?”
    I shook my head. “I told you I saw Jenifer before I came home at lunchtime, didn’t I?”
    “Not you didn’t.” Drake sat down on the rickety bench I keep by my front door so I can look at the roses. I finished wiping up the puddle and sat on the step to talk, watching Barker sniff his way around the tiny lawn. In the dark, his black and white spots blended in, making him a moving shadow.
    I knew what Drake wanted—not just the actions, or even the words, but all the sounds and smells and impressions I’d gotten while talking to Jenifer and her neighbors that day. I obliged as fully as I could.
    “You thought there was someone with her,” he said when I was done.
    “A person, or the radio, or some TV show she couldn’t bear to miss.” I snapped my fingers, and Barker came back from the driveway. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
    “And when you were upstairs, you heard footsteps going away. Could they have been from her apartment?”
    “Look, Drake, they might have been. I just couldn’t swear to any of this.”
    “I know.” He was silent a moment. “I also know you observe very well. We’re left with some unanswered questions for a suicide.” He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. They looked naked and defenseless without those light-catching lenses blocking them. “She had a brother—that seems to be the only family. He lives in the city somewhere—Clarice gave me his phone number, which was all she had. She said that he would be totally broken up. But he’s not home. She offered to notify him about his sister’s death—that takes guts.”
    “She looked as if she could be capable,” I murmured, remembering the Mace. My eyes still smarted.
    Drake is not my boyfriend, although certain of our mutual friends would like him to be. I’ve been man-shy for a while, and he’s still getting over a previous relationship. We’re friends; at times I’ve thought that our friendship might grow warmer. But I admit that something about the way he spoke of Clarice Jensen gave me a pang of heartburn. I can’t compete for a man; I have no womanly little wiles. And like Amy, I’m still feeling that sex is gross.
    “So you don’t see her as a suspect.”
    He put his glasses back on. “There are no suspects in a suicide. And if it’s not, then everyone’s a suspect.”
    “Including me?”
    “You’re a witness. That’s different.” He shook his finger at me. “Just don’t go sleuthing around. Even though it’s suicide, people have things to hide. It’s up to the police to uncover them, not a nosy civilian.”
    “The Census Bureau is paying me to be nosy.” I picked up Barker and got to my feet. “My interest, like yours, is purely professional.”
    Drake put his hand on my shoulder, looking directly at me. “Be careful, Liz. Women shouldn’t be going house to house, especially in the evenings. Bad things can happen.”
    “I’m just going to finish my register before I quit. People are too rude to census takers. Some jobs just don’t pay enough for the aggravation.”
    “Why don’t you find some nice office job?”
    “Why don’t you?” The words were out before I could withdraw them. “Looking into violent deaths isn’t the safest thing in the world, you know.”
    “I know.” He got up, rumpling his already wild hair. “That’s what I'm telling you, Liz. Type mailing labels. Write a