Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery Read Free Page A

not employed, she’s gotta go back to Brazil.”
    “Huh.”
    “Yeah, huh.”
    After I ended the call with Maura, I told Audra that Miss Emily was on her way, and she started dancing around her bedroom, clapping her hands.
    “I had fun with you today,” I told her as I shoved toys into linen bins and generally tried to restore some semblance of order to the place.
    “Me, too,” she agreed. “Mom says you can leave them. Becky will clean them up when she comes.”
    I crouched beside her. “Your mom’s confused. Even when we’re lucky enough to have people to help us keep our houses clean and take care of us, we still need to take care of our own things. Becky’s a helper, but you need to be a helper, too.”
    She wrinkled her little forehead in confusion but, after a moment, joined me in tossing dolls and puzzle pieces into their designated spaces. A moment later, the doorbell rang, and we raced to the door to greet Miss Emily. I didn’t know if my subversive act would stick, but for now, I was feeling pretty good about trying to steer Audra off the path of the obliviously wealthy and onto a more thoughtful course. Cate could thank me later—or not, as the case may be.
----
    I needed to de-stress , so I popped in for a quick Bikram session at the studio around the corner from the Whittier-Clay’s co-op. There’s nothing like a one-hundred-and-five-degree yoga class to leave a soul relaxed and placid.
    My calm and tranquility were short-lived, though, because when I left the yoga studio I ran into Victor Callais. And when I say ‘ran,’ I mean I bounced off his well-muscled chest. I was still in my post-yoga noodle state, so he had to reach out and steady me.
    “Sorry,” I mumbled, acutely aware of the fact that I was slick with sweat. Yes, the studio had a shower, but I prefer a nice long soak in a tub full of lavender essential oils and Epsom salts after a vigorous class. Sue me.
    “Thyme, hey!” He seemed inordinately excited to see me.
    “Hi.” I smiled at him and ever-so-casually raised my arm to take a quick sniff. Eh, passable. Then I noticed the fistful of flyers in his hands and forgot all about my post-workout aroma. He’d taken Audra’s advice and made missing person posters. A black-and-white Helena smiled up at me under an all-caps heading that read “Have You Seen Me?”
    I nodded at the papers. “She still hasn’t turned up?”
    He shook his head. His eyes were sad. “No. I posted on all my social media accounts, and as many of hers as I could crack the passwords for—but finally I decided to go old school.”
    Way across town, my bathtub was calling my name. I could almost hear its siren song from here. But then I imagined about how I’d feel if Rosemary or Sage were missing, and my heart started to hammer in my chest just at the thought. I looked into his bottomless dark brown eyes and sighed. “Let me help you.”
    Thirty-four telephone poles and coffee shop billboards later, we were out of flyers. We stood awkwardly at the corner, avoiding the hot garbage air that rose from the sidewalk grate.
    “Well, thanks,” he said.
    For a journalist, he wasn’t very wordy.
    “No problem. I hope she’s all right.” My platitude sounded weak to my own ears, but then again, I wasn’t paid by the word.
    We nodded at each other, and I shoved my hands into my pockets and turned to leave.
    “Wait.”
    I twisted and looked at him over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
    He inhaled deeply and then let out a big, trembly breath. “I’m going to try her apartment one last time. I already hung flyers around her neighborhood. But ... I really don’t want to go back to her building by myself. Keep me company?”
    His chocolate eyes were pleading. They reminded me of Parsley, my family’s cat, when he really wanted someone to sneak him a shrimp or a piece of turkey.
    I felt myself giving in. “Where’s her place?” If he said Brooklyn or Washington Heights, he was on his own.
    “Midtown,” he said