Pillow Stalk (A Mad for Mod Mystery) Read Free Page B

robe.”
    “Madison,” Alice interrupted, “Andy Popov is my friend. You know you hurt his feelings when you don’t call him by his first name. It makes him feel old.”
    “Take the robe, Pamela.” I paused for emphasis. “ Andy just slapped me, which means he saved the pinch for you.” I glanced at Alice to show her that I was trying, and kept the vintage cover-up extended.
    Pamela pulled on the robe and held the two sides together with her fist while the belt dragged behind her through dingy puddles of water. Her blonde hair hung in soft waves around her face, a far better look than the teased and sprayed style she favored when not playing the retro card. The irony was that I wanted to make her over as badly as she wanted to me.
    I finished buttoning the front of my pink vest and dotted on minimal makeup. “I’ll get the robe back tomorrow,” I called to her back as I wrapped my bathing suit in a towel and tucked it inside the bottom of my straw tote. I realized she had the flyer with Steve Johnson’s phone number in the pocket of the robe and hurried to collect Rocky before catching up with her.
    I walked quickly through the entranceway, down three concrete steps to the unpaved parking lot, and shielded my eyes while I scanned the parking lot for her. My car sat where I’d left it, the closest space to the entrance, facing the tennis courts. A chain link fence, ten feet tall, separated the lot from the pool property; nothing a couple of teenagers interested in a midnight swim couldn’t overcome. Blocks of wood marked off each space, a smattering of bluebonnets and dandelions decorating the fringe of the property. Rocky ran along faster than I moved, exploding with barking as we approached the car.
    And that’s when I saw the body. A body wearing a pink, blue, and white terrycloth robe with fluffy floral appliqués and an unfortunate grape jelly stain. A body with tanned legs that stuck out from behind the rear wheels, wearing flip-flops with daisies on the top.

THREE

    I scooped up Rocky and held him close while I stared at Pamela’s body. Only minutes ago, we were talking in the locker room, her full of life. She said she wouldn’t be caught dead in my robe. And now here she was…dead. In my robe. Despite the already warm temperature, goose bumps sprung over my flesh and I shivered.
    “Help!” I yelled. “Someone call 9-1-1!” Mr. Popov looked out of the entrance. “Call the cops!”
    He turned inside and repeated my instructions to someone I couldn’t see. Rocky yelped madly and I failed at trying to shush him. Mr. Popov came down the stairs as fast as his old legs could carry him. For the first time since I’d met him, the look on his face showed nothing but concern. It wasn’t long before the peaceful poolside scene turned into a menagerie of cop cars, an ambulance, pulsating lights, and swarms of people. Yellow crime scene tape appeared. A man in a tight white t-shirt snapped pictures of Pamela, the parking lot, the tracks in the dirt. Probably a lot more than that, I couldn’t tell. I had a hard time focusing on anything except Pamela’s body. The rest of the world was out of focus, like someone had slipped an experimental filter over my eyes.
    “Excuse me, are you Madison Night?” asked a pretty female cop, the first officer to arrive on the scene.
    “Yes, that’s me.”
    “I’m Officer Donna Nast, with the Dallas Police Department. You found her?”
    I nodded.
    “What can you tell me?” she asked. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail under her hat. Green eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips cast a contrast to the standard issue uniform she wore. I vaguely remembered what it was like to be her age, when being in charge felt the same as being in control.
    “I finished getting dressed and came out here after her. My dog started barking like crazy. That’s when I saw her–her legs, sticking out behind my car.” My stomach turned. “She’s…she is dead, right? Do you