Harley Rushes In (Book 2 of the Blue Suede Mysteries) by Virginia Brown

faces when Tootsie tried on silk blouses or evening gowns. Or high heels in the shoe department.
    Madelyn and Amanda wore nice skirts and blouses, of course. Suck-ups. Madelyn was tall and skinny, Amanda shorter with curves that bordered on plump. Their clothes came from Macy’s, their personalities from Elvira, Queen of the Night.
    “So,” she said to distract from her fashion faux pas and direct the conversation back to the murder, “is Aunt Darcy at the police station giving her statement?”
    Amanda made a muffled sound, and Grandmother Eaton nodded. “Yes, I believe she is downtown. She’ll need our support when she arrives, and perhaps it’s best that we not mention the unpleasantness.”
    Unpleasantness was another obvious synonym for grisly murder. Harley nodded agreement.
    “I imagine Aunt Darcy will be stressed enough. What with having her partner murdered, then being grilled by the cops and all.”
    “Grilled?” Madelyn looked startled. Her eyes widened, and she blinked long lashes that reminded Harley of a Daddy-longlegs. False lashes must be in fashion again. “Why would Mama be grilled?”
    She pronounced Mama in the French way, with the accent on the last ma , and Harley rolled her eyes again. That college graduation trip to Paris must have left a lasting impression after all.
    “Because Harry Gordon was her partner, and besides the murderer, Aunt Darcy was the last person to see him alive,” she pointed out.
    Madelyn’s eyes narrowed and her mouth tightened. “Really. You don’t have to be nasty, Harley. Besides—we don’t know at all who the last person to see Harry alive was. And neither do the police.”
    “True. But they will. Trust me on that. The MPD is very efficient.”
    Madelyn looked rattled, and her mouth went so flat it nearly disappeared. Harley lifted a brow. Maybe Cousin Maddie knew something she wasn’t telling. Could it be . . . ? No, no, Aunt Darcy wasn’t a murderer. Bitchy, uppity, snobbish, yes, but not murderous. Still, the police might very well have another point of view on that subject, so maybe it’d be best not to rule Darcy out completely just in case they found out she’d been investigating Harry for smuggling.
    “Don’t worry, Maddie,” she said, “I’m quite sure you can give Aunt Darcy a great alibi since you’re living at home. You saw her come in Thursday night, didn’t you?”
    “Why would you assume I’m always home?”
    “Because you don’t usually go out until later, after a hard day of getting manicures and pedicures. Unless you’ve actually gotten a job?”
    Madelyn glared at her. Amanda, who had finagled a job as a designer in her mother’s shop, put her hands on her less than thin hips and defended her older sister.
    “Don’t be mean, Harley. Madelyn is still coping after . . . after everything.”
    “You mean her divorce from that idiot? I thought she was still celebrating, not coping.”
    “At least I’ve been married before, and am not an old maid like you,” Madelyn snapped.
    “Old maid? Who talks like that? It’s the twenty-first century, Maddie, and liberated women even have the vote these days. Of course, living in that ivory tower of yours, you probably think getting married is the only option women have. There are others, I promise.”
    “You mean like working for minimum wage baby-sitting tourists? Fine career choice you made, Harley. I’m so impressed. Why don’t you just admit you aren’t capable of doing anything else?”
    This wasn’t going at all the way she’d intended, Harley realized, and sucked in a deep breath to keep the familiar irritation from taking control of her brain and tongue. No point in reverting to fourteen again. Now she needed answers, not a squabble.
    “Maybe I’m not living up to my potential,” she said, and saw Madelyn’s eyes narrow in suspicion, “but I’m only trying to help Aunt Darcy right now. Believe me when I tell you that the police are going to ask you a lot