"No, really, Ramirez will be home any minute," I told her, almost as much for my benefit as hers. "By the way, he wasn't very happy we'd visited the Riccis."

  "I'm not very happy we did now, either," Dana said, clearly still shouldering some guilt. "But this only seals it."

  "Seals it?" I asked, peeking out the front window again. Through the crack in the curtains, I could see a black and white patrol car drive slowly down my suburban street. I wondered if it was coincidence he was cruising our neighborhood or if he'd been sent by my husband to check up on me. Either way, it made me feel a little better.

  "It seals it that the Riccis are involved," Dana explained. "I mean, why else send you a warning to back off?"

  I bit my lip. "It does make them look guilty. But guilty of what, is the question. Bribing building inspectors or killing a woman?"

  "I'm going with both," Dana decided.

  I dropped the curtain back into place. "You know, there's something missing."

  "With what?" I heard fabric rustling as Dana shifted positions.

  "With the Riccis having killed Beth and Moira. How would they know what Moira was going to say to Ricky ahead of time?"

  "Maybe they knew Moira?" Dana offered. "Had been to her studio before?"

  "Did they seem like the type to try to contact the dead to you?"

  "No," Dana admitted. "They seemed like the type to want the dead to stay silently buried."

  "Preferably in the cement foundations of their building," I mumbled, eyeing my locked door again.

  "Well, it's possible that whatever informant tipped Moira off about their guilt in the first place also tipped the Riccis off that they'd talked to Moira," Dana suggested.

  I nodded. "Who would that be? Clearly the Riccis didn't just confess to her."

  "Maybe one of their goons flipped on them?"

  "Not the one who just hit me," I reasoned. "He's clearly still Team Ricci."

  "What about that skinny receptionist at the office? Didn't Chico say that Moira targeted assistants and receptionists?"

  "He did!" I said, liking this theory. "You think maybe she was on Moira's payroll?"

  "She'd certainly be in a position to overhear all kinds of stuff about the Riccis. Maybe their name came up while Moira was digging into Beth's life, and Moira recognized it. Possibly had even heard about their reputation as shady characters."

  "Sometimes it takes one to know one," I mumbled, thinking of the cons Moira had been accused of pulling. "So she somehow convinces their receptionist to spill all?"

  "Money is very persuasive," Dana pointed out.

  "She was wearing Louboutins," I mused. "Pricey for a receptionist's salary."

  "Right?" Dana agreed. "So maybe the receptionist spilled just enough that Moira filled in the blanks."

  "Hard to believe she wouldn't have been fired if the Riccis found out she'd been talking to Moira," I said.

  "You're right," Dana said, "I would think she'd be worse than fired." She paused, thinking. "So maybe the Riccis didn't know exactly who had spilled their secrets, but they knew someone had. Heck, maybe Moira even confronted them with all the blanks she'd filled in, hoping to get more details for the show."

  "So she had to go before she told anyone else."

  "Exactly."

  It was a chilling thought and, if true, showed the ruthlessness of the Ricci brothers. I glanced at the clock, hoping Ramirez got home very soon.

  "I've got another call coming in," Dana said suddenly. "Oh."

  "Oh?"

  "It's Uncle Bart." The surprise was clear in her voice.

  "I wonder what he wants."

  "Better not be money," she mumbled. "But I guess I should take it. Call you later."

  She disconnected quickly, and I was once again alone with my paranoia.

  I tried to set it aside and get some work done, but even as I sat down to sketch a few improvements to the peep toe pumps, I could see my hands still shaking. After twenty minutes I gave up.

  I was just about to wander into the kitchen to figure out dinner when the front door opened and the twins burst inside, followed by Ramirez, carrying a large paper sack. The little ones raced over to me, and I squatted with open arms to greet them, reveling in the scent of their squirmy little bodies. All the calming thoughts in the world couldn't have done what a single hug from Max and Livvie could do to sooth my nerves.

  "Brought us dinner," Ramirez announced, depositing the bag on the kitchen counter. "I hope Chinese is okay."

  "I want a fortune cookie!" Livvie declared.

  "After we eat," I told her. "Now you two go wash up while I set the table."

  "Don't set a thing," Ramirez said. "Just put out some forks and we'll eat straight from the cartons."

  "Like cavemen!" Max yelled.

  "Inside voice, buddy." Ramirez ruffled his hair. "Do what your mom says."

  "What's a caveman?" Livvie asked.

  "Like Mr. Hanson two doors down." Ramirez winked at me.

  Livvie giggled.

  "Go." I swatted her on the butt. "Wash." I pointed at Max. "Rinse, repeat."

  While the twins raced each other down the hall, Ramirez set about unpacking the food, opening cartons, and placing a pile of napkins and plastic forks on the table. "Jared Yeager drove by earlier for me," he said. "Said everything looked quiet here."

  "I thought I saw a patrol car go by." I paused. "So, you think it really was the Riccis' guy who hit me?"

  Ramirez didn't answer that one directly. "Yeager was in the neighborhood anyway," he said noncommittally. "Figured it wouldn't hurt.

  I dumped the carton full of steamed broccoli on a plate for easy distribution, knowing that if I didn't, there would be an untouched carton full of steamed broccoli at the end of dinner. "I was talking to Dana earlier, and—"

  "Don't." He cut me off with one word.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't talk to Dana about this anymore. Don't theorize, don't visit anyone involved, don't meddle."

  I scoffed. "Meddle? I'm not Jessica Fletcher."

  "True. She didn't stumble over nearly as many bodies as you do." Ramirez shot me a teasing look.

  I felt my eyes narrow. "A woman died in Dana's living room. I'm just trying to find out what happened."

  "Well, don't," he said, the teasing leaving his voice. "It's my job to find that out. And I don't need you putting yourself in danger in some misguided attempt to help."

  "Misguided?" My eyes narrowed even further. "Really? Now who sounds like a caveman?"

  He sighed. "Look, Maddie, this whole thing with Ricky's mom was theoretical until you were nearly run off the road. Today it became very real."

  "I doubt Ricky would consider it theoretical," I pointed out.

  "Ricky's mom has been gone for a long time," he said. "And until recently, he had made his peace with it."

  "But it's different now. Now he knows she was murdered."

  "Possibly. And what Ricky does about that is his business. I want you out of it. Leave it alone."

  I opened my mouth to protest that I wasn't in any danger, but of course, that wasn't totally true. Especially if it had been one of the Riccis' goons who'd terrorized me earlier. Still, I couldn't just abandon the case and, by extension, Dana and Ricky.

  "Fine," I said carefully. "I'll stay away from the Riccis."

  He gave me a side-eye look. "And Moira DeVine's studio. And that other architect."

  I rolled my eyes. "Fine! But just promise me you're looking at Beth's death seriously."

  "I take any death seriously," he countered.

  "But especially this one," I added. "For Ricky."

  His expression softened. "I promise I'll look into every angle, okay?"

  I stood and tip-toe deposited a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome," he said, pulling me in for a slightly less quick kiss.

  I was just calculating how many minutes before I could get away with calling it bedtime for the twins, when my phone in my pocket buzzed. I pulled back and checked the readout. It was from Dana.

  Uncle Bart wants to meet tomorrow. Says it's important. Breezy Palms 10am.

  "Who's that?" Ramirez asked.

  "Dana." I shot him a reassuring smile. "Just making some plans to visit some family tomorrow."

  He nodded, though I could see a hint of suspicion in his eyes. He was, after all, a seasoned detective.

  I sent him the most innocent smile I could muster up back. Hey, I was going to see Dana's family. And Breezy Palms had not been on the list of places he'd just made me promise not to visit. Of course, that was probably because he didn't know about it, but I shoved that technicality down along with a smidgeon of guilt as I grabbed a spring roll. "Shall we eat?"

  * * *

  The next morning, I awoke to find Ramirez already gone. Which was a good thing, as he probably would have read the guilt that had evolved through the night from a smidgeon to a practical ooze. I justified it to myself by reasoning that I wasn't exactly putting myself in danger by returning to the Breezy Palms Retirement Village. Possibly in danger of having a cheek pinched or my skirt criticized for being too short, but I was pretty sure I could take the octogenarians if push came to shove.

  In a rare show of solidarity, both Max and Livvie agreed to oatmeal for breakfast, after which they were also agreeable about brushing their teeth, which added a layer of suspicion to my guilt. While they finished getting ready for school, I loaded the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen, thinking that the day was already off to a promising start.

  That changed when we went to leave for school and I opened the front door to find my front porch occupied.

  I stifled a gasp of surprise as I faced Officer Willis, his hand raised, ready to knock.

  "Mrs. Springer." He lowered his hand. "Sorry to alarm you."

  "You didn't," I lied, my heart rate taking its time to slow back down. "We were just on our way out." I nodded to the kids. "What can I do for you, Officer?"

  He smiled down at Max and Livvie. "How you doing, guys?"

  "Okay," Max said. "We're going to school now."

  "Is that right."

  "We'll be late," Livvie said, making an accusation out of an innocent statement.

  "Well, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Willis turned his attention to me. "I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I'd drop by. See if you're husband is making any headway with his case."

  I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Ramirez has already left for work."

  "Has he? That's too bad." Willis hooked his thumbs into his utility belt. "You know, I've been thinking about what you two had to say the other day."

  "Oh?" I asked, trying to read where he was going with this.

  He nodded. "Yeah. And the more I do, the more I've been wondering if maybe I didn't jump to a conclusion too quickly back then. With the Montgomery case, I mean."

  "You mean about the fire being the work of a random arsonist?" I asked, watching his reaction.

  "I…well, I hate to admit it. But, you know, I might have missed something back then. And I'd just feel terrible if I did."

  "I'm sure you did your best," I said, not sure how much I wanted to discuss details in front of little ears.

  "So, your husband really thinks that death might be linked to this psychic lady's?" Willis asked.

  I nodded. "It does look more and more like that."

  "Huh." He pursed his lips. "Well, that's just a real shame."

  "Mommy." Livvie tugged on my sleeve. "We'll be late."

  I gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, we really will be late if—"

  "No problem." He held up his hands in surrender. "I'll be on my way. I just want you to know, I plan to take full responsibility for anything I might have missed. And, uh, I'd appreciate it if you two would keep me in the loop."

  "Of course. I'll let my husband know you stopped by."

  "You have a good day, now." He winked at Max. "That goes for you and your sister, too."

  "Thanks, Officer," Max said solemnly.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Since Officer Willis's unexpected visit had cost me precious time, I sacrificed a planned visit to Starbucks after dropping the twins off at school and headed straight for Breezy Palms. Dana's Tesla was already parked in front of the community center. The doors opened as I slid to a stop behind it, and she and Marco climbed out. And Jerome, who was nestled into his carrier against Marco's skin-tight flaming purple silk T-shirt. Bold choice with an incontinent monkey on board.

  "Bet you didn't expect to see us this morning." Marco air kissed my cheeks. "I talked to Dana last night, and she filled me in. I just couldn't stay away."

  I eyed Jerome. "He couldn't, either?"

  "Jerry?" Marco cupped the monkey's head. "Wherever I go, he goes."

  I grinned. "Ling refused to monkey sit again, huh?"

  "She sure did," he groused. "It's next to impossible to find a good monkey sitter these days. Everyone's like Oh, what a precious little monkey, and then the first time he flings a little—"

  "I get the picture," I cut in quickly.

  Jerome's head bobbed up and down. He got the picture, too.

  "Let's get this started," Dana said. "I lied to Ricky about where I was going and sneaked out of the house. He thinks I'm shopping for moisturizer."

  "Ooh, honey, we can do that later," Marco suggested. "I could use a new moisturizer. My face is practically starting to pucker. If I'm not careful, I'll start to look my age, and we can't have that."

  "I'll give you a recommendation," Dana told him. She turned to me. "I feel terrible about lying to Ricky, but I just can't take those sad eyes anymore when we talk about all this. He knows I suspect his family of murder."

  "You're just being sensitive to his feelings. There's nothing wrong with that." Said she who lied to her husband about where she'd be that morning as well. But I shoved that thought down as Dana glanced toward the community center.

  "Come on—the sooner we find out what Bart wants, the sooner I can get home."

  "He didn't give you any indication?" I asked as we stepped through the doors to the multi-use room.

  She shook her head. "No. He just said he wanted to talk in person."

  "He didn't seem very chatty last time we were here," Marco noted.

  "No," I agreed, eyes scanning the room. "But he looks to be in a better mood today." I nodded toward the white-haired man sipping mimosas at a low table and playing cards with a female companion. One who, as she turned and threw her head back to laugh at something Uncle Bart had said, I realized I recognized.

  Mrs. Rosenblatt.

  As if her crop of red hair wasn't enough of a dead giveaway, her arms jangled with bracelets above her loud hot pink muumuu as she laid a hand on Uncle Bart's arm.

  "Did you tell her to meet us here?" Marco asked Dana.

  Dana just shook her head, a frown between her eyebrows as we approached the pair. "Maybe Uncle Bart did."

  Mrs. R was so absorbed in her flirtation that she didn't notice us until we were standing right next to their table. "Well, look who's here!" She beamed up at us. "Come to watch me beat the pants off Bart here?"

  I sure hoped not. "What are you doing here?"

  "What does it look like?" She splayed her hands out wide. "Playing poker."

  "This lovely creature showed up at my doorstep this morning, and I invited her to a little morning game," Uncle Bart said, grinning at her like poker was not the only game he was hoping to play.

  "The fool." Mrs. Rosenblatt winked at Bart. "I warned you, never play a game of chance with a psychic."

  "I give up." Uncle Bart gave her a lecherous grin. "Besides, you're playing with an advantage."

  She preened. "My boundless charm?"

  "Your spirit guide," he said. "Alfred."

  "Albert," I said.

  He gave a slight shrug.

  "Albert's a poker player?" Marco asked Mrs. Rosenblatt.

  "Albert's a man of many talents." She finished off her mimosa. "Just like Bart here."

  The man of many talents eyed Jerome, who was practically doing a back bend to get a better look at his cards. "Back with the monkey, I see."

  "Screee!" Jerome shrieked.

  Uncle Bart clapped his hands over his ears. "Will you please." He jumped up, grabbing the empty glasses. "When I get back with the refills, that beast had better be gone." He zeroed in on Dana. "You, come with me."

  Dana fell in beside him. I fell in behind Dana. Marco wisely stayed behind with Mrs. Rosenblatt, who watched Uncle Bart walk away with wistful eyes.

  Oh boy.

  "You said you wanted to talk in person," Dana told him as we followed him to a small kitchen near the back of the room.

  "I did," Bart said. He slid the glasses onto the kitchen counter and rapped on it with his knuckles to get the attention of the man restocking K-cups at the Keurig machine. "Play it again, Sam."

  I thought I saw "Sam" roll his eyes as he pulled a pitcher of juice from the refrigerator.

  Dana paid no attention. "So talk."

  "You're a direct one, aren't you?"

  Dana gave him a raised eyebrow. "You called me."

  "Okay," Uncle Bart said with a chuckle. "Yes, I did. Look, I've been thinking about that money you said went missing."

  "The fifty thousand Beth withdrew from her bank account," I clarified.

  Bart nodded. "I got an idea where it went."

  "Where?" Dana asked.

  He glanced at each of us in turn, savoring the anticipation. "What if she never took the money out at all?"

  "What are you talking about?" I cut in. "We know thousands of dollars disappeared."

  He held up a single finger. "You didn't let me finish. What if she didn't take it. But Robert did."

  I glanced at Dana. That remark allied uncomfortably with the direction my thoughts had been wandering the evening before. "You think he lied about it?" I asked.

  Uncle Bart shrugged. "Maybe. If he didn't want anyone to know what he'd done with it."

  "Sam" delivered the fresh mimosas, and Uncle Bart picked up the glasses and gestured with his head for us to follow him back to the poker game and Mrs. Rosenblatt. I noticed Marco was missing from the scene. I sincerely hoped it wasn't because Jerry had decided to fling anything.