Cover Story by Rachel Bailey

brightened. “Hey, I don’t suppose …”
    That was a dangerous thought to leave hanging. “No, sorry, I live in an apartment.” Luckily. “But I’ll put the word out at the paper if you want.”
    “Thanks, that’d be great, though I should point out they’re hardly going to be winning beauty contests, being part bulldog and part silky terrier,” she said wryly. Obviously beauty meant a lot to her or she wouldn’t have called herself Jazlyn. Jacqueline? Josephine?
    I pulled myself together. “A strange combination.” Actually, so strange, maybe I could work it into the next article. I scratched Deefer’s head and she looked up, tongue sticking out with a peculiar upward curl at the tip. Well, it was better than anything else I had to go on.
    “Thanks for the coffee, I might just nip over the road to see Gerald and Ethel before I leave.” I stood and slung my bag over my shoulder.
    Jazlyn walked me to her door, a hand on the small of her back. “Any time, Tobi.”
    I walked straight across the road and could see Gerald watching me as I approached. Shame that Simon was sure he couldn’t walk, it was the perfect theory—and I could understand the motive of boredom. If I’d been in Gerald’s position, forced to do nothing but sit and watch my neighbors, I’d probably end up pulling my hair out strand by strand. Or worse, I’d phone my mother and sister.
    Remington yapped at my arrival and Ethel came and opened the door, a dustpan and brush in her hand. “Miss Fletcher, I didn’t expect to see you again.”
    I resisted a grimace. “I didn’t expect to be back on Los Alamos Court again, either.” I pointed to the dustpan. “Had an accident?”
    Ethel rolled her eyes. “Sometimes Gerald forgets he can’t walk. This time he smashed a pot plant as he stumbled.”
    Yep, Gerald as the culprit was out of play. “So, how do you get him around the house?”
    “A wheelchair. He can transfer himself into that using me for balance.” She led me over to the armchairs beside Gerald. “Have a seat and I’ll get us a nice pot of tea. Green or jasmine? They’re both organic.”
    “Um … surprise me?”
    “All right, dear. Oh, and I showed your article to Gerald, but I don’t know if he reads anymore. He sits with the paper on his lap in the morning, but,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “he’s fading, bless his heart, so who knows?” Ethel patted Gerald on the shoulder and walked out to the kitchen.
    I took out my notebook and pencil. “Gerald, I heard about your Remington sowing his wild oats with Deefer over the road. How do you feel about that?”
    Gerald turned slightly to look me in the eye then turned back to search the streetscape.
    “Come on, Gerald, I know you take in more than you’re letting on.”
    A slow smile spread across his face but he kept his eyes on the street. “My granddaughter said she likes you.”
    Now we were getting somewhere. “I like her too. She’s not bad for a kid.”
    He didn’t move. “She’s lost a lot.”
    A surprising ball of emotion lodged in my throat. After all, she was adorable … as far as kids go. “I know.”
    “Are you going to leave her, too?” He looked over at me and held my gaze.
    I frowned. “Gerald, I’ve only met her a few times, she’s hardly going to be disappointed in not seeing me again.”
    Remington jumped down from Gerald’s lap where he’d been sleeping and ran to the hall to escort Ethel and her tray of tea and cookies. From his expectation, I surmised he was usually slipped a cookie or two.
    “Here you go, Miss Fletcher. Green tea.” Ethel handed me a cup.
    “Thank you.” The tea had a comforting scent—kind of seaweed-y. Dammit, was that me becoming a tea buff? I put the cup on the table. “I have a couple of questions about Remington, if you don’t mind.”
    Remington lifted his head hopefully at his name.
    “What do you want to ask?”
    “The situation with Deefer’s pregnancy—is this the first?”
    Ethel