A Denial of Death Read Free

private investigator," Josie said. "You solved Melissa's murder when the police went after the entirely wrong suspect."
    Helen hadn't intended to solve the murder. Not really. She'd simply been miffed, because the police hadn't taken her seriously. Catching the killer had been a fluke, a once-in-a-lifetime experience she hoped never to have again. She was looking for a quietly interesting pastime, not an extreme sport.
    Helen tapped her walking cane on the floor beside her. "I'm not really in any condition to chase down bad guys."
    "No, but you could outsmart them," Betty said. "You may not be able to run or even to knit, but you can think. In the end, that's a lot more useful."
    "Perhaps," Helen said. "But I can't see how I'd convince potential clients of that. They'd be looking for a tough person like James Garner in The Rockford Files or Kinsey Milhone in Sue Grafton's alphabet series. Not someone like me. I can't see much advertising potential in the slogan, 'I'm tougher than I look.'" 
    Betty and Josie exchanged a glance, and then Betty did the talking. "Actually, you wouldn't need to advertise. We'd like to hire you."
    "Why would you need a private investigator?" Helen came up with the answer while they were trying to decide which of them should explain. Betty and Josie were famous within the nursing home, and probably throughout all of Wharton, for knowing the best gossip, most of which was nothing more than wild conjecture based on their observations of the nursing home residents and their visitors. Their stories were generally considered to be better than anything on television or in the movie theaters, and their audience could never get enough of them. "Wait. I'm not going to spy on people and report back to you about their romantic escapades."
    "We don't need you for that." Josie absently undid the knot at the top of the purple blob Helen had spent two weeks making. "We're good at ferreting out romances and feuds all by ourselves."
    "We've got something bigger for you to investigate," Betty said. "We want you to look into a possible murder."
    "We're hoping it's just a missing person case." Josie tugged at the end of the purple yarn and began wrapping the unraveled yarn around her fingers to make a ball. "Angie might still be alive."
    "Have you talked to the police?"
    "Of course we did. Hank Peterson was here visiting his uncle." Josie paused in her ball-making. "I can't remember. Have you met Hank?"
    Helen nodded. Detective Hank Peterson had been in charge of investigating the murder of Helen's visiting nurse four months ago.
    "Then you probably have a good idea of how he reacted when we told him we were worried about Angie," Josie said. "He kept patting Betty's hand and making condescending comments about interfering old biddies until she stabbed him with one of her needles."
    "I just wish it hadn't been a big plastic one," Betty said. "Barely got his attention. One of my sharp brass needles for knitting lace would have made much more of an impression on him."
    It helped a little to know that Helen wasn't the only person the detective had underestimated. She'd had the satisfaction of proving him wrong by catching her nurse's killer while he'd been off chasing the wrong suspect. Betty and Josie deserved the same vindication. That didn't mean Helen was the right person to help them, though.
    "What about asking Geoff Loring to look into your friend's disappearance?" Helen had met the Wharton Times reporter at the courthouse a few months ago, when he'd thought a tell-all interview with the governor's ex-wife was his ticket to a career in investigative journalism. "He could ask around for you."
    "He doesn't do hard news any more," Betty said. "He sticks to writing personal-interest stories now. He's pretty good at it, actually, better than he ever was at hard news."
    "We did think about suggesting he interview Angie about her volunteer work, hoping he'd go see her, and then we'd know if she was missing or not," Josie