Page 50 of Conrad

“No. I never had a dog. My mom is allergic. But I always wanted one.”

“I thought you’d be a cat person.”

“Oh no. Give me a floppy, loyal, shedding golden retriever any day.” She knocked on Janet Foster’s door.

Nothing. The wind scurried off the river, into the parking lot, the sun hovering over the city, shadows creeping across the pavement and grimy snow.

Conrad reached over her and knocked again, harder.

The door opened nearly immediately. “I’m here, for Pete’s sake!”

The woman wore a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt with the wordsAll You Knit Is Loveappliqued on the front. White fluffy hair and a few pounds turned her into a grandma type, except for the scowl on her face.

“Sorry.” Conrad held up a hand. “We were wondering if you could help us?—”

“You look familiar.” Except she wasn’t looking at Conrad. The woman narrowed her eyes at Penelope. “How do I know you?”

“Um—”

“This is Penelope?—”

“Oh my—Penny for Your Thoughts! Goodness, come in!” A smile broke through, and even though she gave Conrad the side-eye, he followed them in.

Cozy place, right out of the eighties, with blue overstuffed sofas and end tables covered in doilies and a tangle of knitting on the sofa. The television played a YouTube video. Janet picked up the remote and muted it. “I just love your podcast. I intend to call in someday—really, I do.” She moved the knitting. “I still think that Tommy Fadden, her nosy neighbor, killed Sarah.”

Conrad had met Tommy when he’d been shot trying to help Harper find Penelope, so nope.

Penelope sat down. “Actually, Tommy is sort of a hero in the story, but that’s still an upcoming episode. I’m researching a different, um, murder.”

Conrad stayed standing, the smell of something baking lifting from the kitchen. His stomach growled and he pressed on it. He hadn’t eaten, thinking, well, thinking this was a date.

Weirdest date he’d ever been on.

“How can I help?” Janet had seated herself on a nearby rocking chair.

“The night that . . . your neighbor’s building burned, what do you remember?”

“Edward. Oh, he was such a darling.” She leaned forward. “I loved his fiancée too. Such a pretty girl. What was her name?”

“Tia?”

“No . . . that wasn’t it. Anyway, yes, I was here that night. Such a tragedy. They evacuated me, but of course, my unit was unharmed. And they got here so fast—well, you know, they were probably on their way anyway after I called them.” She leaned forward. “I gave my statement that night, but they never came back. I’m not sure why. I could probably describe him if they wanted to hypnotize me.”

Conrad frowned.

“Describe who?” Penelope said.

“The man who killed Edward.”

Penelope visibly froze.

“He came into the apartment, and I heard shots. Three shots.” She held up her fingers, just in case. “So I called 911. And then I saw him leave. He ran right out the front door and into the parking lot, and I tried to see where he went, but it was dark and . . . well, about five minutes later, the entire building rumbled and the windows exploded—terrifying. I stood out in my housecoat for three hours while the firefighters hosed it down. Insurance put me up in a hotel for a week before they’d let me back in. Oh, sweetheart, are you okay? Don’t cry?—”

Oh no,he hadn’t noticed, given the fact that he’d turned and looked out the window, trying to decide if Janet could be telling the truth. Not a huge picture window, but enough to make out a fleeing suspect.

Now he spotted Penelope grabbing tissues, Janet sitting next to her on the sofa. She pressed the tissues to her eyes. “I just feel so sorry for his fiancé.”

“Oh, I know it,” said Janet. “Such a pretty girl. Blonde hair. Drove a really sweet orange Volkswagen bug. Those things are expensive—I mean, back in my day, they were dirt cheap, but now?—”

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