Free Murder in the Marketplace by Lora Roberts Page B

story. Plant some lettuce. But stay out of this investigation.”
     

Chapter 8
     
    Amy's friends arrived before she was up in the morning. I had taken Barker out, just as I had in the night when he woke me up whining at my bedside. I had fed him, walked him briefly in the yard, and been at my desk for half an hour, hoping Amy would wake and take herself off so I could stop feeling like an interloper in my own living room.
    She slept as innocents do, tucked primly into bed. I had looked twice to make sure it was the same girl. Her skin, washed clean of the white and black makeup, was incredibly fresh and dewy. Even the few blemishes couldn’t really mar it. Covering that complexion with thick makeup should have been a crime.
    The knock on the door accomplished what all my keyboarding and throat-clearing couldn’t. Amy sprang out of the Hide-a-bed, shrieked, “Ohmigod, they’re here already!” and rushed into the bathroom.
    I opened the door, with Barker, living up to his name, around my ankles. Eric and Randy were big, strapping fellows, I guessed around eighteen, one carrying a bulging bag of bagels, both smiling sunnily at me. “Good morning,” they chorused.
    Elise and Kimberly, behind them, had already put their faces on for the outing—exaggerated eye makeup, with lots of red on the lids so they looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks. Elise’s hair was dead black, but at least she’d left the white off her face. Kimberly’s hair was an improbable cerise.
    Amy emerged from the bathroom, wearing torn cutoffs and a skimpy T-shirt. Eric’s and Randy’s eyes lingered for one awed moment on the amount of bosom exposed, before politely retreating.. I didn’t blame them. She, too, had left off the dead white in favor of the sunblock she applied with a lavish hand. The bright feathers of her hair were spikily arranged.
    She greeted her friends graciously. I had put a bowl of oranges on the table—there was an orange tree in Drake’s backyard from which I could help myself. These were the last of the season’s fruit, pithy and not too great, but the kids wolfed them down, along with the bagels and cream cheese they’d brought. I would have to get groceries. No, I thought, we would have to get groceries. If Amy was going to eat it, she was going to see it paid for.
    The noise they made was considerable, and yet they weren’t talking especially loudly. In fact, I got the idea they were trying to be subdued, although not succeeding.
    “Amy told us your neighbor in front is a cop,” Eric explained after shushing a burst of laughter from Elise. “We don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”
    “That’s thoughtful.” I peeled an orange myself. The young people looked very comfortable, eating and drinking around the table, but I wanted them to leave. I needed to get some of my own work done before heading off to SoftWrite for the morning. If Clarice’s account of last night’s trouble hadn’t made them decide they didn’t want me.
    So I cleared my throat once more. “Where are you all going today?”
    Eric was polite enough not to acknowledge this hint. "We’re just going over to Davenport,” he said, managing to chew and talk at the same time. “The waves aren’t so great this time of year anyway, so we’re just going to check it out, really.”
    Randy nodded. “Brought the boogie boards along for the girls,” he said indulgently.
    Elise smacked him on the arm. “I can surf as well as you,” she declared. She was the bossy one, despite her small size—she must have weighed less than a hundred pounds, and was shorter than I was, which is saying something. Beside her, Amy looked statuesque. It would have bothered me when I was her age. She seemed serene, however.
    “I don’t know anything about it,” Amy announced. “Is the water nice?”
    The others rolled their eyes at each other. “Yeah, nice for penguins,” Randy said. “It’s freezing. I brought my old wet suit—might be a