shot him a tight grin. “Doubtful, but we have to do what we have to do.”
What was happening? Steve asked himself minutes later when they were back in his car after dropping off the phone at the station and heading to Patricia Burns’s house. What was he doing with Roxy like a mouse in his pocket, gnawing a tiny hole in his sanity?
He should have done the professional thing and sent her on her way that morning in the station. He wasn’t sure exactly how he had become we. He had two perfectly good partners to work with, and he didn’t need another one. He especially didn’t need one who’d felt so right pulled tight against his body, one who sent his adrenaline rushing whenever her eyes snapped with fire.
As soon as he interviewed Patricia Burns, he was taking Roxy right back to her car at the station and carrying on alone. He’d promise her frequent check-ins, but he needed to get her out of his pocket.
Patricia Burns lived two blocks away from Liz Marcoli in a neat ranch house that was identical to Liz’s except for the color.
Their knock was greeted by a petite woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and a worried expression in her brown eyes. She instantly grabbed Roxy’s hand. “No word?”
“No, nothing.”
Patricia nodded to Steve and then gestured them into a living room decorated in shades of blue. Steve introduced himself to her as he sat in a chair next to the sofa, where the two women sank down side by side.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Patricia asked.
“Thanks, but we’re fine,” Steve replied. “I understand you and Liz are good friends, Mrs. Burns,” he continued.
“Best friends, and, please, call me Treetie.” She smiled and patted Roxy’s hand. “When the girls were little they had trouble saying Patricia, and so I became Treetie and the nickname stuck.”
“Okay, Treetie, when was the last time you spoke to Liz?”
“Thursday night. We talked on the phone around eight.”
“Anything unusual going on with her? Anything she was worried about?” Steve took out his little pad and pen, ready to take any notes that might be pertinent to the case.
“No, nothing unusual. The only thing Liz ever worried about was the girls. She worried that Marlene was never going to get over her divorce and that Sheri would wind up being all alone with only the chipmunks for company. And, of course, she worried that Roxy would keep any man from ever marrying her because of her sharp tongue and the scars left from her early life with her mother.”
She patted Roxy’s hand as Roxy’s cheeks dusted with high color. “Sorry, honey, but that’s the truth.” She pulled her hand back from Roxy’s. “Other than that, Liz was enjoying her life. She had her baking that she did for the Dollhouse, she was planning her flower and vegetable garden and she had Edward.”
“Edward?” Steve asked.
“Edward?” Roxy parroted in confusion. “Who in the hell is Edward?”
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