My wee little brain just couldn’t go there, so I tried to fling myself back onto a safer track. “Give me a break. Cops don’t do things like that. They’d need a warrant or something.”

  My sister’s responses can be quick and still appear to be well thought out, especially if she is getting the reaction she wants. “Only if they planned on using the information in court. You don’t know. This could be a rogue cop. He could be working on his own because he thinks you killed his partner.”

  “Right, Teagan, I’ve got the look of a serial killer written all over me.”

  “You dingleberry, if a serial killer looked like a serial killer, they wouldn’t be able to kill more than one person. The cops would swoop down and grab them. Serial killers, good serial killers, look just like you and me.”

  I had to fight back; it’s a sister thing. Besides, I was on edge about the cops-sitting in-the-van thing and trying not to imagine exactly what they had seen. What about when I laughed and told A.J. that I’d been trying for weeks to become flexible enough to get my foot behind my head? Were they watching when he challenged me to prove it? I’m the kind of girl who can’t leave a challenge unmet; without even warming up or anything I’d grabbed my ankle and…

  Teagan interrupted my thought. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you just, well, you look like, I’m not sure what you look like. I’ve never seen you look that way before.”

  I tried to go back to the subject I’d been trying to change, because it suddenly seemed much more benign, which is just pathetic. It’s easier to think about being intimately involved with a serial killer than to discuss how intimately I’m becoming involved with A.J.

  I’m beginning to think there is the tiniest possibility that I’m just a tad dysfunctional.

  I countered with, “Teagan, I thought female serial killers only killed their cheating husbands and they mostly poisoned them.”

  “What?”

  “Seems to me there are lots of black-widow-type female serial killers, and maybe some in the medical field that are helping sick people to a better place a little sooner than God had intended, but I don’t remember hearing much about your average, everyday, female serial killer. There was that one movie, but other than that, not so much.”

  Teagan rolled her eyes. “First of all, a woman that kills her husband, a black widow, isn’t a serial murderer. I don’t think. As for not hearing a lot about female serial murderers, that would be my point. You don’t hear about them, but they could be sitting next to you while you’re getting a pedicure — you need one badly by the way — and you would never know.”

  “Teagan, leave my hairy toes out of this. Besides, I shaved them when I was in the shower last night, so my feet look fine. Don’t start with my feet. May I remind you that although you have great boobage, my toe cleavage is the envy of foot models far and wide? Can we get back to the subject at hand?”

  “Sure, Cara, you, in your infinite wisdom, told a cop that you think that all things good and bad come in threes. And then you told him that in the very recent past you have come across three dead people.”

  “You make it sound like I stepped over them. That wasn’t what happened, and that wasn’t what I said. All I said was that I am aware of three people that have died.”

  “No, what you said was that you were going to collect one hundred thousand dollars for solving a murder; we’ll call that case number one. You are aware of a second case; she was Mom’s best friend. Aware of a third case; he was a cop for God’s sake! Worse than that, he was the partner of the cop you were talking to. Cara, don’t you ever watch TV? You aren’t supposed to talk to the cops. Ever.”

  “You’ve just let yourself go to some parallel reality, Teagan. There’s only one case, and the sum total of my knowledge about that one case is what I read online. I decided a hundred thousand dollar reward would come in handy. If every person in this country wanting a large pile of money to fall from the sky into their lap is guilty of a crime, there would be about six people not in jail. When it comes to this case, as you call it, I don’t know the people; I’ve never met the people. Chances are good I never will meet the people or collect a reward.”

  I was trying for a tone that indicated I was earnest, when actually, panic would have been a better description. I continued, “The second case, as you put it, isn’t even for sure a murder. Bernie was older than dirt, and just because the cops want to take another look around Bernie’s place, doesn’t mean she was murdered. As for the cop, or case number three, as you put it, they said he was in a car crash. No one is looking at it as anything other than a horrible accident. Besides, he was a retired cop, forced medical retirement, so he didn’t technically have a partner. I never said they were cases, and I never said they were connected.”

  “That isn’t true. You told the cop — his name is Joe, right? You told Joe-the-cop that you thought they were connected.”

  “No, what I told Joe was that he needed to relax and let information come to him. That there could be links and connections found in just about everything in life. It’s the cosmic equivalent to ‘Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon,’ or whatever the hell that is. I happened to notice a stupid article in the paper about Lily Ivy-Rosenbloom, the hundred thousand dollar case. We have no connection. Of course I know Bernie, she’s a good friend of Mom’s, but she has no connection to Rosenbloom, other than the fact that I’d read about Rosenbloom in the paper. Then because we were helping Mom go through Bernie’s stuff, our priest, your fifth-grade crush…”

  Teagan interrupted, “Sixth grade.”

  “Sorry, the family priest, your sixth-grade crush, asked if I would do the same for one of his parishioners, Louis. That parishioner happened to be a retired cop and happens to be the ex-partner of Joe. That hardly makes me a serial murderer.”

  “All that’s true, but you’re the one that pointed out to Joe-the-cop that all three of the deaths were linked.”

  I snapped, “No, no, I didn’t! What I said was that if you look at enough of the minutia of life, you’re going to find coincidences and similarities. It isn’t my fault that all three of them had car tags that had three of the same letters.”

  “You don’t find that odd?”

  “I find it interesting.”

  “Of all the tag combinations out there, three people are dead within days of each other, and all three of them have a car tag that has three of the same letters, and all three of them come to your attention. You notice, and then advertise to the cops, that there are matching letters on the car tags of three people you claim you aren’t involved with. Cara, you don’t think anyone, not the cops, not the serial murderer, not Mom, is going to notice?”

  “Well, damn.”

  “And, Cara, you can bet everything you own that you’re not only on this cop’s radar, but your little blip is getting louder and louder. Joe-the-cop even told you that his other little cop friends think that you’re onto something.”

  “Well, double-damn!”

  “You know good and well that if you’re standing in an elevator and someone passes gas, it’s usually the guy that says ‘Yuck, who did that?’ that did it. The cops are probably figuring you figured out the license plate thing because you killed them all. They don’t know you. They don’t know that you aren’t capable of killing anyone.”

  I sounded kind of pathetic. “I’m really not.”

  “Cara, I, of all people, know you’re not capable of murder. If you were, I’d probably be dead.”

  I had to smile. “True.”

  “And since the entire task force, because they’ve probably formed one by now, and potentially the entire police force, could have intimate knowledge of just what happened here last night, remembering that your brother is on that same police force, perhaps you should share all the details with your favorite sister before it gets back to Mom.”

  I couldn’t help it. I let out an audible sigh. What’s up with that?

  “Think about it, Cara. I have the right and responsibility of knowing every detail of your life first. That’s just how it works with us. Not only am I your favorite, I’m the one that will run interference when Mom gets a whiff of this. And you know she will.”

  “Dear Lord.” My shoulders sank as I walked toward the kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Teagan followed me into the kitchen, never even taking a breath, and continued, “And by the way, knowing what I now know, and wanting to preserve my retinas, here is the emergency house key. I don’t want to walk in on something that would be hard to erase from my memory banks. More importantly, the key is actually Mom’s, and I’m not the one that’s going to hand it back to her so that she can walk in on something that… I can’t even think about that happening. I don’t want any part of it.” She pulled a face and shook her head. “And, of course, if you don’t give the key back, she’ll wonder why.”

  Life gets really complicated when you have seven brothers and sisters, involved parents, and a family that is described as close and involved, or dysfunctional and enabling, depending on one’s vantage point.

  I got out my favorite teapot. Making us each a cup of tea was not going to suffice. I’m Irish. There’s nothing a good cup of tea won’t make better. Reality is, this time, it could take a whole pot.

  TWO

  WHEN THE TEA was in the pot brewing, I grabbed the last of my emergency package of cookies and joined Teagan at the table.

  I took a breath, and started in. “Okay, what’s your problem?”

  “You first.”

  “No, you first. That way we start off our conversation with unpleasantness, and we end it with something, um…” I paused. I tried to think of a word that would hold her interest but not give away every detail. I don’t talk about my sex life. Truth be told, I’ve never really had much of a sex life to talk about. That’s not to say that I’ve never had sex. I have, and at the time, I thought it was pretty damn good, but after last night, turns out what I thought was pretty damn good actually sucked, and not in a good way, but we won’t go there now.

  I looked at Teagan and continued my thought. “Let me think of a word.”

  “You’re at a loss for words? You? This may be unprecedented.”

  “Don’t be a smartass.”

  “I’m not. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

  “Give me a break. It isn’t like last night was the first time I’d ever…”

  “No, not the first time, but you’re still different.”

  “If you’re going to get all weird, Teagan, I’m not going to talk to you about it.”

  She gave me an eye roll. “Fine, me first. I don’t mind being first. Ask Jessie, he’ll tell ya.”

  That got a chuckle out of me, and we were off to the races. Teagan began to regale me with her problem. “Lindsey called me today.”

  Momentarily confused, I needed to confirm, “Lindsey, the girl you hired a few months ago to do all the stuff you can’t keep up with at the office?”

  “Yep, her. She has been valiantly trying to keep everything going at the office while I take time off, but whenever she has a question, or a problem, she gives me a call. You know Mr. Fisher still owes me about a gazillion days after all the time I put in the year after his marriage blew up and he had his meltdown, but I haven’t even finished my vacation days, and things are already starting to spin out of control.”

  “Do you need to go back to the office, get back to work?”

  “I’m not sure. But it isn’t just the paperwork and client issues. Mr. Fisher’s added a new twist.”

  “How did he add a new twist? I don’t mean to be mean, but the man can’t tie his own shoes without your help. You run that place and have since the day you started. What did he do?”

  “Well, short story very long, he went out and found himself a girlfriend. I guess he’s over the first Mrs. Fisher, and he’s found a candidate for Ms. Fisher. He told Lindsey she isn’t the Missus type. He has decided Ms. Fisher, the sequel, can help us at the office.”

  “Uh, oh. Is she trying to horn in on your territory?”

  “Worse. If she tried to take over my job, it wouldn’t take long for her to give up and for everyone to see just how much I do. That would probably be a good thing.”

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I’m trying to tell you. Boy, what’s going on with you today? You’re normally the most patient person I’ve ever met. What’s with all the questions? Why are you in such a hurry?”

  I shrugged. “Dopamine overload. Isn’t dopamine the stuff that tells your wee little brain that you just gotta have more of something really good? Oh my Lord, I had no idea that good could be so good, but now that I know just how good good can be…”

  Teagan smiled. “That sounds about right, but I’m not a scientist. I’ve been floating around a little myself since I got back together with Jessie, and we’ve known each other for a long time.”

  “Let’s go with dopamine overload. And I won’t even try to get a confession that you knew Jessie, in the Biblical sense, when you were a teen; although we both know that you did. See how good dopamine is? I have bigger fish to fry than your pernicious, post-pubescent, quasi-promiscuous sexual experimentations.”

  Teagan shook her head. “Wow, you got some really big words going there. You must be proud.”

  I smiled. “I do what I can.”

  Another eye roll and she was off. “Mr. Fisher’s new girlfriend has a name. I keep forgetting what it is. Anyway, according to my assistant Lindsey — Whitney, that’s her name — Whitney is working on becoming a life coach. Mr. Fisher, in all his new love glory, has decided that it would be really good for her to consult with each of us in the office. We’re going to have, free of charge mind you, the wisdom and life-altering insights of this woman. As a result, our business will flourish, and our personal lives will soar to new heights. It’ll be grand.”

  “So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that she’s a whack job and she’s just practicing on us because she is new to the business and hasn’t identified any other potential victims. I don’t intend to share my personal life, or for that matter, my business life, with the likes of her. That’s why God invented you. So that I’d have someone to bitch and moan at, who comes up with the rare, but thoroughly superb insight that not only drags me from my quandary but allows me to seek help again in the future, due to the infrequency of your butt-in-it-ness.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have described it quite that way, but I appreciate the sentiment. Two questions. What makes you so sure she’s a whack job? What happens if you politely and respectfully decline the offer?”

  “That’s right. You’ve never actually gotten to know Mr. Fisher. You only know him from my moments of panic, terror, frustration and/or gratitude. First question first. Whitney has to be a whack job; she’s dating Mr. Fisher. If I turn down this offer of help, Mr. Fisher will think I’m ungrateful and that I’m being disrespectful of him and of her.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, it isn’t, considering I’ve worked my way up from copygirl to Grand Poobah of the office. Chances are good I could find a better job — less stress, more money — somewhere else, but I love my job. I’m good at it. I am comfortable there. People finally see beyond the boobs and all this perfection that is me.” She pulled a face proving she didn’t buy into her own hype. “I don’t want the stress of starting over somewhere else. So, what do I do?”

  “Fake it?”

  Her brows almost met in the middle. “What do you mean?”

  “Give Whitney just enough to chew on so that she tells Mr. Fisher that you’re working with her, but not enough that she can get any real insight or have any real bearing on your life.”

  “That’s a great plan, with two problems. Number one, I’m an O’Flynn. You know as well as I do that as soon as I start talking to her, if she has even the slightest ability, she’s going to know everything about me, and you, and the rest of the family, and everyone at the office. Secondly, if she challenges something I feel strongly about, the torrent will begin. I’m not as bad as you are, but I’m pretty bad.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “So what do I do?”

  “If you can’t stop her, help her.”

  “What? Cara, how the hell am I supposed to help her? I’m not even sure what a life coach is.”

  “Well, if she’s using you guys as test subjects, then I would suggest that you create scenarios for her to deal with. You can do a little bit of research; jeez, you could base it on our family members and have enough to keep her busy for an entire millennium. For your little life coaching sessions, you could be her quality assurance tester and come up with hypotheticals instead of sharing your real life.”

  “And just how am I supposed to get away with that? I’m sure she’s going to expect something a little more personal.”

  “Make it personal. Tell her that you have a friend, or a cousin, or some person that is not immediate family, that has an issue that you have no idea how to deal with, and it is weighing on your soul, might even impact your performance at work, and ask for her wisdom. See what she says.”

  “That might work.”

  “If it turns out she’s good at this stuff, then at some point you can present your current work situation, as a friend of a friend of course. At the very least she’ll think you’re broaching the current issue with her on behalf of someone else in the office. Then let her fix it.”

  “Cara, you’re brilliant.”

  “I’ve been telling you that for years.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t have proof until just now.”

  “Be nice!”

  “So what should my first question be?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “I thought you were going to help me with this.”