Secrets and Ink by Lou Harper Page B

public-domain audiobooks. She’d treated the gadget with suspicion at first but warmed up to it once I showed her how to use it.
    When she noticed me, she first pulled the iPod out of her pocket to pause it and then tugged the earbuds loose. “That Bertie needs somebody to look after him. He reminds me of you.” Well, apparently, she was still on a P.G. Wodehouse kick.
    “That would be nice, Mrs. Gallagher, but I’m afraid I can’t afford a manservant.”
    Her rheumy eyes twinkled. “Is that what young people are calling it these days?”
    “Behave now, Mrs. G.” I patted the red FTP canvas bag hanging from my shoulder. “I brought you a few things.”
    She pushed herself up. “I’m too old to behave. Stand still for a moment.”
    I did, and she held her knitting up to my chest. She hemmed and said, “Come on in, then.”
    I helped her put away the eggs and milk, and opened the box of ginger cookies for her. We chatted about the weather for a few minutes; then I went upstairs.
    As I unloaded wallet and phone, my fingers bumped into bits of paper. With sudden anger, I dug all the photo pieces out of my back pocket and chucked them into the toilet. Next I found the original photo, ripped it tiny pieces and threw them in there too. I flushed and watched them get sucked into oblivion. Good riddance.
    I’d barely changed into comfy shorts and a T-shirt when a storm cloud in the shape of Nick showed up at my doorstep, announcing his arrival with loud banging.
    “Don’t have to kick the door down,” I grumbled.
    He swept me aside and into the living room. “What the hell were you doing at Clay Carson’s house?”
    “Delivering groceries. How did you know I was there?”
    “I called Olly when I couldn’t get hold of you, and he told me where you went. Seriously, what is wrong with you?”
    Olly, that ratfink. Unfortunately, a long day and rattled nerves had left me prickly. I crossed my arms. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me. And since when do you have Olly’s number?”
    “Since I asked him for it. Why shouldn’t I be friends with your friends?”
    “I haven’t even met any of your friends!”
    “You met Gary.”
    “Who’s Gary?”
    “Detective Lipkin.”
    “Ha! He knows me only as a murder suspect. Hardly the same. You keep tabs on me because you don’t trust me, admit it!”
    “Why should I? You charge around like a loon. Sometimes I wonder if you have any common sense at all. And you keep blindsiding me with your secrets. Olly was babbling something about you having a photo of Carson.”
    “Ah, that. I didn’t want to bother you with it. Riley sent me a second picture—similar to the first one, but with an extra person and a blowjob added. I might have ripped it up a little, and Olly saw one bit. No big deal.”
    “You didn’t—” He pressed his lips together, but his jaw muscles kept working. He took a deep breath and evened his voice. “Is it Carson in the picture?”
    “Olly swears to it, but I’m not convinced. He’s liable to see Carson’s face on a piece of burned toast. I thought if I just got a glimpse of Carson, maybe I’d remember. Actors look different in real life than on the screen. I once sat in a restaurant next table to what’s-her-name from that cop show, and she looked so much plainer. And I didn’t tell you about the photo because I knew you’d get all huffed up about it. As you are now.”
    “Jem, I swear…” Another moment of heavy silence stretched between us. “I’m huffed up, as you put it, because you can’t follow the simplest directions. I explicitly told you not to get involved in the investigation.”
    “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not involved. This has nothing to do with Riley’s murder.”
    I feared Nick’s eyes might pop out of their sockets, the way he glared at me. “Nothing to do…? What do you keep in your skull? Spare cheese? Your scheming ex-boyfriend possibly has a photo that could