Free The Icing on the Corpse by Mary Jane Maffini

don't know about waiting?”
    â€œI'm sure you do.”
    â€œThese ears are sharp. I hope you don't think they're for decoration.” Mrs. Parnell's ears and the word decoration do not even belong in the same sentence.
    â€œAbsolutely not.”
    â€œAnd, consider this, I have a perfectly serviceable vehicle available in our own parking garage which is more than we can say for you. Plus I have a pair of Sorel boots, lined, waterproof, never been worn, which I will give you in return for a piece of the action.”
    I put up a token argument. “If he does show up, it could get dangerous. Who knows what could happen to you.”
    â€œYou forget, Ms. MacPhee, that I'm dying.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œOf boredom. Let's hit the road.”

    Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Parnell and I pulled up outside Lindsay's place on Echo Drive. Mrs. Parnell's perfectly serviceable vehicle shuddered to a halt. The unmarked cop car still idled across the street.
    By the time I had hoisted the walker from the back seat, an officer had ambled over to greet us. Nice as pie, his hand on his holster. The other officer was also out of the cruiser. Maybe they needed a stretch. Maybe they thought we looked suspicious. Maybe it had been a while since they'd seen a 1975 Ford LTD.
    Mrs. Parnell clutched her two metal-pronged back-up canes. She opened her mouth to speak.
    â€œDon't be a smartass,” I told her. “Evening,” I nodded to the cop. I recognized him from court.
    He, on the other hand, did not recognize me.
    It took longer to talk our way into Lindsay's town house than to cross town. In part this was because I was dressed in Mrs. Parnell's thirty-year old beaver coat with the matching hat. I looked like her evil twin, although I did think the neon yellow laces and trim on the Sorels were a nice contemporary touch. Both cops squinted at my picture ID for long enough to make a point.
    I was glad of the Sorels, because we stood and waited while the officer poked through our overnight cases, sniffed Mrs. Parnell's bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream, inspected the walker for hidden hazards, and checked out Mrs. Parnell's ID. Then he put me on the phone with my brother-in-law-to-be, Conn McCracken, to make extra sure. I even had to hand the phone to Mrs. Parnell so Conn could confirm her identity.
    â€œResist the urge to be cute,” I told Conn as I handed the receiver back to the officer. “It's cold out here.”
    It took long enough, but we passed the test and scurried through the door. Merv seemed almost glad to see us, although I wouldn't want to stretch it. He settled Mrs. Parnell into an oversized armchair with a glass of sherry and her David Lloyd George biography. I perched on the ottoman. He continued to pace, long legs stretching out over the distance from kitchen to living room, living room to kitchen. Lindsay didn't even lift her head off the sofa. She lay with her eyes closed, her hair cascading over one of the large cushions.
    â€œI think it's hitting her. He's holding Rina and is totally out of control,” Merv said.
    We all went quiet. I think Rina's situation was sinking in with everyone.
    â€œI thought he didn't know where this young lady lived,” Mrs. Parnell said after a while. “And that is why we took my car and why Ms. MacPhee wore some of my outerwear. To throw him off the scent in case he was tracking her.”
    Merv met my eyes. The police had placed a heavy guard around Rina too. We both knew Benning would be after Lindsay regardless. Just a matter of time. Question was, would he find her before the police found him? And would we be able to stop him?

    The doorbell pealed, loud and musical. Merv snapped to attention. Mrs. Parnell struggled to her feet. Lindsay lifted her head from the sofa. We gawked in the direction of the front door. I ran behind Merv to the foyer.
    â€œYou guard the back door in case he tries to distract us and kick his way in,” Merv