Death Under Glass Read Free

Carrie’s purse, making her flinch, wide-eyed, and bringing me back from my contemplation of Trudy’s bank balance. Carrie and I spent a fair amount of time together, and I recognized that particular tune as her default ringtone for calls from people outside her contact list.
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Carrie said, glancing back and forth between me and Trudy. “I thought I switched it off . . . I . . .” She tugged open her purse, dug frantically for the phone. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll just—” Her eyes fell on the display screen and the number appearing there. The pink flush of embarrassment drained as quickly as it had bloomed, leaving her skin magnolia pale. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, standing. “I need to take this.”
    While Carrie ducked into the foyer, I smiled at Trudy, searching my brain for the right question to engage her with while I worried over who or what might have caused such a reaction in Carrie. “So, um, Fifi had a different owner. How did she end up with you? Did you adopt her from a shelter?”
    Trudy peered closely at me as though looking for an answer to a question only she knew. “Georgia Kelly,” she said again.
    â€œWhy do you keep saying that?” I asked.
    She shook her head slowly, the movement barely disturbing her drop earrings. “There’s something about you, dear. Something not right with you being a Kelly.”
    I fought to keep the surprise and hint of offense from showing on my face. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn’t figure it was anything good, or possibly, you know, sane. I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant by such a remark in the same moment Carrie rushed back into the room.
    â€œWe have to go,” she said, reaching over me to grab her purse. I froze in response to her sudden haste; Fifi scrambled to her feet, alert to the new charge in the air.
    â€œWhat is it? What’s wrong?” I jumped to my feet, steeling myself for whatever news she might hurl my way.
    Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she said, “My husband’s business is burning. I have to go.”

2
    â€œD o you want me to drive?” I asked, rushing down the path away from Trudy’s house.
    â€œIt’s fine. I’m not upset.” Carrie fumbled the keys and they hit the sidewalk with a heavy metallic thud. She hissed a curse, grabbed the keys, and continued stomping her way to the car.
    â€œAre you sure? I only ask because you seem a little, um, wound up.” And I didn’t want either one of us to die in a motor vehicle accident. I stood beside the car, waiting for her to reach the driver’s side, waiting for her to change her mind and hand me the keys.
    Instead, she took the time to meet my eyes over the top of the sedan. “Why would you say that? I’m fine.”
    Once she was in the car with the door shut behind her,I climbed into the passenger seat. “I say that because we’re speeding off to a fire at your ex-husband’s business.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œYour
ex
-husband. This is Russ you’re rushing to help. The guy you divorced. And you’re going off with lights and sirens and a death grip on the wheel. Any reason?” I pulled my seat belt into place without taking my gaze off of Carrie. I had never had the pleasure/experience/bad luck of meeting her ex; they were divorced before I even met Carrie. But over the past couple of months, she and I had shared a good number of tales of woe featuring our former flames. As could be expected, she had little good to say about Russ, though I knew—even though I could be faulted for the same behavior—she was hardly being unbiased in her complaints.
    She maneuvered the car into a smooth U-turn, and we sped up the block of grand old houses, centennial trees shading lawns and road alike. I sat in silence for a while, giving Carrie