Not One Clue by Lois Greiman Read Free Book Online Page B

needed some time to think things through.”
    “So how did she know to show up at Jackson’s house?”
    I shrugged and fished the last noodle out of the box. I needed it about as much as a bullet to the brainpan. “Micky said she can be spooky. Maybe she uses the same voodoo witch you do.”
    “Shirley? Would Shirley have told her?”
    The noodle drooped from my fingers mere millimeters from my gaping maw. “She wouldn’t.”
    “Why not?”
    “Because she’s my receptionist. It’s her job to keep things confidential.”
    “What’s your job?”
    “You blackmailed me into divulging all that information about Jackson.”
    She didn’t comment on her threat to contact Rivera. “I guess it would have been worse if no one showed up for Jamel.”
    “I was there.”
    “And what would you have done with him?”
    I shrugged. One of my past boyfriends had told me I had the maternal instincts of a snail. “I would have worked something out.”
    “You and François?”
    “François happens to be a very sensitive guy.”
    She didn’t respond to that other than to roll her eyes. Maybe because François runs on batteries and lives in a drawer beside my bed. Laney rose to her feet and started clearing dishes.
    “I take it Rivera wasn’t happy about the situation, either.”
    I watched her work. “The François situation or the Micky situation?”
    “He knows about François?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Probably?”
    “I don’t even know how you know.”
    She grinned as she put the dishes in the sink. “What was the good lieutenant’s major concern regarding the Micky situation?”
    “Probably that he couldn’t tell me what to do.”
    She turned, putting her ridiculously well-toned derriere against the counter. “Have you considered that maybe he worries about you?”
    “I’m a big girl.”
    “Mac, a guy was shot. A woman was stoned. Not to mention armed. And Micky’s been accused of rape on more than one occasion. Maybe he’s not as innocent as he seems.”
    “He’s had a tough road. And how do you know—”
    She raised a hand. “Just be careful. Okay?”
    “I don’t intend to get myself shot,” I said, trying for levity. “I mean, how embarrassing would that be?”
    She glared at me. “Sometimes you’re an idiot.”
    I gave her a hopeful expression for the “sometimes.” “Things are looking up, then?”
    “I’m serious, Mac. You just keep putting yourself out there. Looking for trouble.”
    “I do not.”
    “Really? What did Ramla want?”
    I was pretty sure my earlier conversation with my neighbor wasn’t something I should be ashamed of, but somehow I was. “What?”
    “Ramla.” Laney was adopting her combative mien. Generally, she’s about as aggressive as a daisy. Other times she seems to think I need a mother. Which, by the by, I already have in spades. “What did she want?”
    “Do you have spies out there or something?”
    “Yes. I thought her sister was doing okay now.”
    A while back, I had told Laney about the Al-Sadr situation. She’d informed me that a friend of hers from the Middle East might be able to help. But before any plans were made, Aalia, Ramla’s sister, had reported that all was well. Unlikely as that had seemed, there wasn’t much I could do about it. “I guess she’s not anymore.”
    Laney’s brow puckered. I was glad to see it could happen. “Maybe you shouldn’t get involved.”
    “Little Miss Fix It doesn’t think I should get involved?”
    “I’m serious, Mac. I have a bad feeling about this.”
    My stomach curled, but I forced a laugh. “Aalia’s in Yemen. What could happen?”
    “I don’t know,” she said. “But if it can I’m pretty sure it will.”

7
Men … a sure cure for sanity.
— Shirley Templeton
    O n Wednesday I wore my favorite warm-weather ensemble: a cranberry shell that fit snug across my boobage and tucked neatly into a high-waisted skirt that hugged my behind like a perverted banana peel. The flirty ruffle at the