Dead Giveaway Read Online Free

into trouble. Getting into trouble with Jeff would affect not only my ability to work as a PI but also our relationship . . . which could affect Jeff's friendship with Angel . . . and maybe then affect the prospect of getting my little subsidiary of the Molina Agency, Yellow Rose Investigations, licensed by Texas in a few years. That damn domino effect will get you every time.
      No call to Will. Period. But I had to do something.
      With my calico cat, Diva, watching from the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs, I practically wore a hole in the Oriental rug in front of the sofa while sorting through all this, thinking about what I'd seen tonight and trying to remember every detail of my conversation with Verna Mae the other day. Could there be a clue from our meeting, a clue to explain why she contacted me today, a clue connected to her death?
      Sipping intermittently on my soda, I recalled the woman's enthusiastic greeting when we'd arrived at her house, an encounter that immediately made Will and me uncomfortable. It would have made any sane person uncomfortable. I mean, what was Will supposed to do when a stranger hugged him like the human equivalent of Saran Wrap? Verna Mae's nose only came to his navel, and she pressed her plump face into his abdomen, wrapped her fleshy arms around him and held on for dear life. He reacted by raising his own arms as if he were being fitted for a tuxedo, all the while staring at me bug-eyed.
      After she finally let go, she gave me one of those pat-you-on-the-back type hugs, thanked me for bringing her boy back home and walked us through her I Lust for Waverly house to the dining room. There we found a meal fit for a July Fourth picnic. Fried chicken, potato salad, a slab of ribs, baked beans and a gallon of sweet iced tea were laid out on a massive table—enough food to serve the state legislature.
      We filled our plates—she'd even brought out the good china—and went out to the front porch. I chose the wicker chair right next to a planter filled with baby's breath, and Will sat to my right. Verna Mae flanked him on the other side. Thank goodness the round glass-covered table was high enough that he could fit his unbelievably long legs underneath.
      I no sooner took my first bite of beans when I dropped my napkin. I bent to retrieve it and saw it had blown under the planter, the one I hadn't paid much attention to when we walked inside despite its presence near the front door. The one I now realized used to be a bassinet.
      A white wicker bassinet on wheels.
      I felt like ten caterpillars were crawling up my neck. ''Um, unusual use of a baby bed,'' I said. ''Did it belong to one of your children?'' About then I was praying that was the explanation, but my gut told me otherwise.
      ''I have no other children, Ms. Rose.'' She rested a hand on Will's arm. ''I placed the bassinet where I found my boy that night.''
      A brief, tense silence followed before Will said, ''Cool,'' and continued eating.
      I believe that's how teenage boys cope with everything—by eating.
      Verna Mae raised the thin eyebrows over her gray eyes—the only thin thing on her body. ''You may have the planter if you like, Will.''
      He gave me this pleading sideways glance that shouted, Please help me.
      ''A baby bed in a men's dorm might make for some interesting jokes,'' I said, trying to sound lighthearted rather than critical.
      ''Of course,'' she replied. ''I was just . . . kidding.'' Her tone was terse enough that I knew the lighthearted approach had failed.
      So much for my acting skills. ''Why don't you tell us about the night Will arrived.''
      Her face relaxed and her eyes glazed over in dreamy remembrance. ''I heard him crying. Jasper— he was my husband—said a cat was in heat. But I knew better. Thank goodness Will came to us in October, because the weather was perfect. No danger of him freezing or dying from the heat.'' She turned to Will. ''When I picked