barely stopped slurping. âShut up, Frank.â
Frank gave Patrick one of his patented âbetween boysâ smiles. âShe adores me. I saved her life, you know.â
Patrick straightened, his interest caught. âNo. I didnât.â
âWrong verb, Frank,â Molly interrupted. âThe one you want is âruined. â You ruined my life.â
âOh, you love me and you know it, St. Molly.â
Dee raised a hand. âIf you donât mind ⦠.â
Molly decided that she didnât want to try sitting again. It was too achy getting up and down. So she leaned against the counter, sipping at her shake and almost forgiving Frank for being Frank. Which happened every time he brought her junk food.
âDid I hear you say you knew about the notes?â Dee asked Frank.
He nodded congenially. âYeah. Obviously somebody not as enchanted by Mollyâs gracious nature as the rest of us.â
Damn it. That made her grin again. âIâm not gracious, Frank. Iâm stupid. If I werenât, I wouldnât keep letting you in the door.â
âWouldnât know anything about bones, would you?â Dee asked.
âBones?â Frank leaned against the sink and shrugged. âBeyond the âthighbone connected to the knee boneâ? Not much.â
âYou had to mention thighbone,â Molly muttered.
âYou like to paint things?â Dee asked.
Frank actually looked appalled. âPaint? Me?â
âHearts and crosses and things? Gold paint?â
Frank lifted an elegant eyebrow. âYou looking for somebody to decorate for the prom, or is there a question in all this?â
âHe wants to know if youâve been painting bones and flinging them over my fence, Frank,â Molly told him. âPlease say yes. That would get everybody out the door and put you someplace where they can actually control you.â
Frank, being Frank, was delighted by the insult. âDecorated bones? Hot damn. I knew if I hung around long enough youâd dig up some more excitement for me.â
âMore excitement?â Patrick demanded. âWhat do you mean?â
âSt. Molly here just loves a controversy. Donât you, Molly?â
âI do, Frank. Especially if it can put me at opposite ends of an argument with you.â
âSheâs famous in St. Louis,â Frank continued. âProbably the most notorious death investigator in the country. Good Golly Miss Molly, they call her.â
âDeath investigator?â Patrick swiveled his attention toward Molly. âYouâre a death investigator? Like a coroner or something? How come we didnât know that?â
âWell, thatâs the secret to your aunt Molly,â Frank confided. âShe only gives bits and pieces of herself to everybody she knows. Then I guess she expects us all to get together at some kind of friend and family reunion in the park and construct the whole picture ourselves.â
âIs that right?â Dee asked.
Molly groaned. Not only was this getting way too complicated for two in the morning, sheâd run out of shake. âDonât listen to him, Dee. Donât even make eye contact. You donât know how dangerous he is to your sanity ⦠not to mention your wallet.â
âWhich is why I wouldnât threaten Molly,â Frank informed Dee equably. âIt would be anticlimactic. Iâve already sued her.â
Dee stared.
Patrick whistled. âYou sued my aunt Molly?â
Molly was sure she didnât like the avid look in Patrickâs eyes, or the answering triumph in Frankâs. Two peas in a pod. Just what she needed. She was about to ask Dee to arrest them both just to give her some peace when his radio crackled to life. Molly was an old enough hand that she could interpret the mumbles.
âGo on,â she said, waving him away. âYou have another call. Unless
the detectives