Mother Knows Best (A Margie Peterson Mystery) by Karen MacInerney Read Free Book Online Page A

over.”
    “Please tell me you’re joking,” I said.
    “It’s better than the ones who want to pee on me,” she told me.
    I didn’t want to think about that, so I focused on the more important issue. “Who shot him?”
    “I don’t know,” Desiree said. “I cuffed him and left him alone for a few minutes. He usually liked to marinate for a little while.”
    “What were you doing while he was . . . marinating?” Peaches asked.
    “Buying curtains online,” she said. “The sale ends tomorrow. Anyway, I was just putting in my order when I heard a gunshot. I came in here, and he . . . he was dead.”
    “Nobody else noticed the gunshot?” I asked.
    She shrugged. “It’s a rough neighborhood. You get used to it.”
    I couldn’t imagine getting used to gunshots, but I supposed anything could become normal if it happened often enough. “How did the killer get in?” I asked.
    “Patio door,” Peaches said, pulling back a red-velvet curtain. The sliding glass door behind it was open. “Forced it.”
    I looked at Desiree. Despite her Morticia Addams boudoir getup, she looked very young. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just can’t tamper with a murder scene this way.” I looked at Peaches. “Neither of us should be here.”
    Tears welled up in the young woman’s eyes, and she hugged herself. For a moment, something about her reminded me of Elsie. Maybe it was the dog collar. “I can’t have him found here. My parents will disown me, and the police . . . I don’t know if they’ll believe me. I’ll never be able to finish school, and I’ll have to do this for the rest of my life.” She flicked a hand at a rack of whips.
    “I’m sorry,” I repeated.
    “You’ve got to help me,” she said, reaching for my hand. “My parents have no idea this is how I put myself through school; it would kill them if they found out. My mother . . .” She shuddered. “I’d lose her forever.”
    I sighed. “But it’s tampering with evidence. And I can’t risk being connected with a murder. My kids have too much disruption in their lives already.” I looked at Peaches. “How do you know each other?”
    “Desiree helped me on an infidelity case,” my boss explained to me, “so I owe her a favor. And all she wants us to do is move him out of the apartment.”
    “But . . . there’s evidence here!” I protested. “If we move him, they might not be able to find out who killed him!”
    “We don’t even know who he is,” Peaches said.
    “He called himself John,” Desiree said.
    Peaches snorted.
    “Does he have a wallet with him?” I asked. I looked at the tights; if he did, he hadn’t tucked it in there. The tight spandex left far too little to the imagination.
    “His clothes are over there,” the young woman said, pointing to a chair in the corner. “I’ve got gloves if you want.” She produced a box of latex gloves from a cabinet under the whip display.
    “What do you use those for?” I asked.
    “Don’t ask,” Peaches said, fishing out a pair of gloves and pulling them on, then tossing a pair to me. I found my eyes drawn to the dead man in the pool. He had a large, pink bald spot on the back of his head, and his doughy shoulders were dusted with freckles. Did he have a family? I wondered. Was he leaving a wife and kids behind? How would his wife react when she discovered her husband had been found dead in a wading pool, wearing nothing but green tights and a pair of goggles?
    “Got it,” Peaches said, holding up the man’s license. “George Cavendish,” she said.
    “George Cavendish,” I repeated. “Sounds familiar.” I’d heard it sometime recently, but couldn’t place it.
    “Lives on Plato Court,” she said, peering at the license. Then she fished a hundred out of the wallet and handed it to Desiree. “I’m guessing he didn’t pay you. This should help with the curtains.”
    “Thanks,” she said, waving it away, “but I just want him out of here.”
    “There’s