Baroque and Desperate Read Free

cheek,” I wailed. “The burglars, damn their miserable hides, even took my phone jack!”
    I thought Mama would jump out of her skin. “You mean you still can’t see it?”
    â€œNot even a feather. Now Mama, if you don’t mind, can we please change the subject? I mean, here I am, standing in an empty shop—everything I own is gone—stolen—and you want to stand around and talk about fairies.”
    Mama’s mouth opened and closed silently several time. Finally she managed to produce a few faint squeaks.
    â€œWhat?” I said with remarkable patience.
    The squeaking grew louder. “Not fairies, angels!”
    â€œJust stop it!” I screamed. “This isn’t about you, or what you think you see on the wall. It’s about me!”
    Mama drew herself up to her full five feet and one inch. “If that’s the way you feel, then I’m going straight home.”
    â€œGoodbye, Mama. Thanks for picking me up at the airport, but I can take a cab home from here. Or hitch a ride with Wynnell or C.J.”
    She stomped to the door, angrier than I’d ever seen her. Well, the nerve of that woman! I was the one whose life had come unraveled, for crying out loud. I was the one facing bankruptcy.
    Mama opened the door. “It’s not too late to say you’re sorry, Abby.”
    I gaped at her in disbelief.
    â€œWell, then, I’m gone!” she said, and the door slammed behind her.
    Â 
    An hour later I was still gaping, this time at Inspector Greg Washburn. Take it from me, the man is a hunk; six feet tall, blue eyes, black hair, muscles in all the right places, which is to say, none between the ears. We were an item for a while, but I broke it off because—well, the truth is, we didn’t trust each other. Of course Greg had no reason for his doubts, while everyone knows Greg had the hots for a bimbo named Hooter Fawn. I’m not saying he acted on his impulses, but I want a man whonot only has eyes just for me, but who will kindly avert those eyes on a bad-hair day.
    â€œI thought you were with homicide,” I said.
    â€œVery funny, Abby.”
    â€œIt wasn’t meant to be.”
    â€œYou didn’t know?”
    I sat down on a floor so clean Mama could serve bridge-club cake on it and no one would complain. “I’ve been out of town. Or didn’t you notice?”
    â€œOf course, I noticed. I just thought that your mother, or some of your friends—never mind, it’s a long story. Yes, I’ve been assigned to your case.”
    â€œWell, let the investigation begin,” I said. Try as I might, I couldn’t pry my peepers off him. I had tried dating other men—including a drop-dead-gorgeous detective from Pennsylvania—but it was no use. All I could think of was Greg, who seemed to have no trouble thinking of women other than me. If only there was some way to make him really jealous.
    To my surprise, Greg sat down cross-legged opposite me. He pulled a small leatherbound notepad from the pocket of his navy blue shirt.
    â€œAs you can see, Abby, the person or persons who robbed your shop, made a clean sweep of things—uh, sorry, Abby, no pun intended.”
    â€œCan you tell me something I don’t know?”
    He shrugged. “We dusted for prints—there aren’t any. No sign of forced entry. No evidence of a truck or moving van in the alley, although of course they undoubtedly used one. We even had a guy climb up on the roof—”
    I waved my hand like a schoolboy with a right answer. We schoolgirls were far too polite to wave in my day, even though we had all the right answers.
    â€œWait a minute! What do you mean they undoubtedly used a truck or van?”
    He closed the notepad and slipped it back in his pocket. “It was definitely a pro job, Abby. If I were to hazard a guess, the contents of your shop are halfway to California by now.”
    â€œ California