The Corpse with the Emerald Thumb by Cathy Ace

Sheila, that goes for you too, right ?”
    â€œYou’re a good girl, Cait. I’ll let you know how Jack is when I can. Bye for now.”
    Being referred to as a “girl” made me smile, but that was all I had to smile about. Of course, I felt sorry for Jack, and I hoped he was going to be alright, but honestly, this additional disaster could not have happened at a worse time.
    I sprang up, darted inside Casa LaLa, and checked for a computer. Bud and I had agreed to not bring any equipment on vacation except our phones, so it was all well and good that Jack had sent me an email, but I had no way to access my accounts. Typical!
    I checked what might be referred to as the usual places for any sort of computer, and even hunted in the cupboards and drawers— you’re clutching at straws now, Cait Morgan —but I couldn’t find a computer anywhere. All I came up with was a wireless keyboard, tucked into a drawer in the unit that sat beneath the huge flat-screen TV , which was suspended on the wall in front of the cream leather sofa.
    I managed to work out how to turn on the TV , fiddled about with the remote control, and finally established that there was some way to get the keyboard working with the TV , and that maybe, if I just hung in there, I could find a way to get to the internet and then my email. But it wasn’t to be— of course! —because just then someone knocked at the door.
    I put down the keyboard and tried to look as smiley and polite as possible as I opened the door. There stood Frank and Ada Taylor with their hands full of carrier bags. Frank’s Tilley hat was perched on his head at a jaunty angle, and Ada was looking almost manically cheerful.
    â€œWe brought supplies!” announced Frank jovially.
    All I could do was invite them in, take the bags, thanking them profusely and telling them that they “shouldn’t have,” and pack everything into the fridge and cupboards. They were so sweet, and Ada was the epitome of the sort of woman you rarely notice, until you spot the fact that order reigns supreme thanks to her efforts. She reminded me of Sheila, but without the element of “fusspot.”
    â€œWe know you’re meeting Al later, but we thought you could do with a proper welcome,” said Ada, shutting a cupboard door one last time, and presenting me with a dish of nuts, and some sliced fruit.
    My polite gene kicked in. “Would you like a drink?” I asked. I grinned as I added, “Some very kind Canadians I know have supplied me with juice, wine, soda, and beer—so you have a choice.”
    Frank and Ada smiled at my attempt at humor.
    â€œJuice for me, thank you, dear, though I usually prefer tea. Unfortunately, we didn’t have an unopened box I could bring you, I’m so sorry. I find tea very soothing and even cooling, don’t I, Frank? I’ll have juice for now,” replied Ada. “Shall I help myself?”
    I nodded. “And you, Frank? Can I tempt you into having a beer with me?” What are you thinking, Cait Morgan? You need a clear head!
    Frank glanced at his wife. “No thanks, Cait. Juice will be fine for me too,” he half nodded toward Ada, “at least, I’m sure that’s what the wife thinks.”
    â€œTrue,” replied Ada as she poured a second glass. “And for you, Cait? Do I take it you fancy a beer?”
    I looked at the bottles in the fridge and gave it some serious consideration. I knew I shouldn’t. “Thanks, but I’ll stick with juice too. I’ll want a clear head for my conversations with Al about Margarita.”
    I wanted to get to the subject of the murder as quickly as possible. Bud didn’t have time for me to be engaging in chit-chat.
    â€œAre you sure you don’t mind giving up your spare time to do this for Margarita?” was Ada’s opening gambit.
    Frank obviously picked up on the same aspect of Ada’s