Death on a Short Leash Read Online Free

drapes pulled.” The room looked over a dismal bit of scrubby grass, several battered garbage cans and a high fence shielding the yard from several rundown houses. She let the drapes fall into place again and turned back into the room. A poster of a black cat hung over a double bed that was covered in a gold satin spread. The photographs on the walnut dressing table seemed to be mostly of Johanna and her family. Marie picked them up one by one and looked fondly at them. “This is Johanna with her father,” she said, showing Maggie a picture of a fresh-faced girl, her braided, flaxen hair coiled neatly around her head, and a slim, dark-haired, handsome man in his forties, both laughing for the camera. Still holding the photo, Marie opened the top drawer of the dressing table. “Such beautiful underclothes,” she breathed.
    â€œAnd these,” she said, opening yet another drawer to reveal teddies, uplift bras, silk stockings, some still brand new. “And what is this?” she added, the agitation in her voice making her accent thicker.
    â€œWhat have you found?” Nat said from the doorway.
    â€œThis thing,” she said, holding up a bright red, sequin-studded G-string.
    Maggie, who was going through the clothes in the closet, popped her head out to see. “What is it?” she asked. “Oh!” She caught the look on Nat’s face and felt her own turning red. “It’s probably one of those things girls collect these days,” she said quickly.
    â€œBut what is it?” Marie insisted.
    â€œI think it’s called a G-string,” Maggie answered. “Oh, look what I’ve found,” she said quickly to change the subject. “Looks like a dance outfit. Reminds me of when I was a kid and took dancing lessons.” Then, realizing her mistake as soon as she held up the diminutive costume, she turned to put it back.
    â€œI have never seen that before,” Marie said, snatching the costume from Maggie’s hands. “What is it doing in my daughter’s . . .” She stopped in mid-sentence and pushed Maggie out of the doorway. “That . . . that . . . can’t be my Johanna!”
    Maggie turned. Marie was pointing to a glossy six-by-ten photo that had been thumbtacked to the inside of the closet door. The posed girl was obviously Johanna, dressed in the very same costume that her mother held in her hands. Her long legs accentuated with black fishnet stockings and glittery shoes, Johanna was bending forward, smiling into the camera lens in a very provocative way. The abbreviated skirt was hiked up the back to show a glimpse of sheer panties, and the laced-up bodice of the costume pushed two full, overflowing breasts over a wisp of white chiffon. The costume was completed with puff sleeves and an authentic Dutch starched hat, and Johanna’s braided hair hung over her breasts in two long golden plaits.
    Marie gave a long, shuddering sob. “That can’t be my Johanna?”
    â€œWhat have you got there?” Nat asked from the doorway.
    â€œYou’d better come and see,” Maggie answered.
    â€œOh,” he said. “Well, there’s bound to be a perfectly good explanation,” he continued calmly, turning to the ashen-faced Marie. “Probably a costume party . . . or something.”
    â€œHi! I’ve brought coffee.” The voice had come from the living room.
    â€œThat’s Laura,” Marie said, moving quickly past Nat.
    â€œI brought you some coffee,” Laura repeated, placing a tray on the glass coffee table.
    But Marie Evans wasn’t interested in coffee. “What is going on here?” she demanded, waving the offending costume in Laura’s face. “Where did my Johanna get this . . . this . . . thing . . . and all this furniture?” As Marie burst into tears, Maggie took the costume from her and gently pushed her into a chair.
    â€œYou’re a good friend of