Page 17 of The White Picket Fence

“Did they?”

“Not yet, but I bet you could light a fire under their asses better than I can. My son unlocked Dottie’s door so that one of the officers could look around. Nobody was inside. My son locked it back up. I made you a key. If it’s all right with you, we’ll keep a copy, too.”

Charlotte found a genuine smile. “Of course that’s all right. You’ve had a key to Dottie’s house for how long?”

“Since before you were born,” Mrs. Murphy said. “Your color is better. I thought you were going to pass out on me.”

“I might have. Thank you, Mrs. Murphy.”

Mrs. Murphy’s smile was sad. “You’re welcome. I wish things were different, that Dottie was in her house and fussing at me for having nicer flowers this year. She’d be wrong, though. Hers were stunning.” A tear streaked down her wrinkled cheek. “Always better than mine. But that’s to remain a secret. Just between us.”

Charlotte carefully covered the woman’s gnarled hand with her own. “Just between us. You grabbed me pretty hard. That must have hurt your hand.”

“Needed to be done. Or I could have slapped you like they do in the movies.”

Charlotte chuckled, surprising herself. “Don’t do that. I was so out of it that I might have slapped you back, just out of reflex.”

Mrs. Murphy laughed quietly. “Then think of how awful you would have felt. I might have even taken advantage of your guilt to get some cream puffs.”

“I’ll make you some. Along with something to help with the flare-up.”

“That berry dessert was wonderful.”

“It’s on my list to make for you.”

“You’re a good girl,” Mrs. Murphy said fondly.

I wish I were still a girl.Charlotte thought of Tino once again.I’d do so many things differently.

Mrs. Murphy was watching her, eyes sharp. “You can talk to me, you know. If you’re not okay.”

“Thank you, ma’am. But I’ll be fine.”I always am.“This tea is good.”

“And you’re just as bad at changing the subject as Dottie. Drink it. It’s good for you. Antioxidants or some such thing.”

Charlotte obeyed, and when they were both finished, she washed their mugs and put them in the dish drainer. She was calmer now. Able to think. “I wonder why he came back. If it was the same guy.”

Mrs. Murphy shrugged. “I don’t know. My son and I racked our brains over it and came up with nothing. We thought maybe he was afraid she could identify him and came back to...you know. Finish her.” They both winced at that thought. “But my son said that Dottie’s assault has been in the news and all the reports say she’s in critical condition in the hospital. Whoever hurt her wouldn’t have come back to finish her off, because everyone knows she’s not home.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her attacker, just some guy in a gray hoodie. Some opportunistic jerk who knew she wasn’t home and thought he’d steal from her.”

“But Dottie doesn’t have anything valuable. Nothing anyone would want to steal.”

“He wouldn’t have known that.”

“Well, he’ll think twice before coming back. My son put cameras up when he fixed the locks, but this morning he installed even better cameras. If that bastard comes back, we will get his photo.”

“I hope he doesn’t come back. I have faith in your son’s abilities, but I’d prefer not to test them out.” She took a step, gritting her teeth when her hip joints protested.

I’m going to double the berry recipe. I need to eat some anti-inflammatory foods myself.

But she was going out to dinner tonight. With Tino Ciccotelli.

She’d cook tomorrow. She had a list of people to cook for anyway. She’d made a few friends since returning to Philly, and those friends had been through their own recent trauma. Cooking for them was the only way she knew to help.

“Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Murphy. I’ll call you when I’ve talked to the police sketch artist.”

“All right. You’ll call? With your voice? None of that texting nonsense?”

---