Watchdog by Laurien Berenson Page B

be finishing up.
    â€œYou told Detective Petrie that you weren’t planning to meet Rattigan. Do you know what he was doing here?”
    Frank shook his head. “I’ve wondered about that, too. Usually when he was going to stop by, I’d have some notice. As far as I know, he’s never been here when everyone else is gone.”
    I gazed through the window and up at the hole where the skylight had been. “Do you suppose it could have been an accident? Maybe the thing wasn’t installed correctly and it was just Rattigan’s bad luck to be standing under it when it fell.”
    â€œNice try,” said Frank. “But no way. There’s some sort of copper lip around the frame to hold it in place, so they can’t just fall. Besides, I know for a fact that both those skylights were bolted in solid.”
    â€œWhat makes you so sure?”
    â€œBecause I was up there two days ago, checking on the gutters. Some leaves had blown down onto the skylights and I went over and brushed them off. Everything was tight as a drum then.”
    I strode back to his side. “What did you say?”
    Frank looked at me innocently. “What?”
    â€œI could have sworn that when Petrie asked you if anyone had been on the roof recently, you said no.”
    â€œNot exactly. I said I didn’t know. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Mel. Nobody else was here at the time.”
    â€œAre you certain one of the neighbors didn’t see you? Were you wearing gloves?”
    Frank’s silence said it all.
    I threw up my hands eloquently. “You’d better go back in and talk to Petrie again. Tell him you just remembered something he ought to know.”
    â€œNo way. I’m innocent, remember? I didn’t do it. And I’m not going to give these guys any information that makes it look as though I did.”
    â€œThe thing that makes you look guilty is lying, Frank. Especially if you get caught.”
    My brother stared off into the trees on the other side of the road. I hoped he was thinking about what I said. But when he spoke again, it was clear he’d had something else entirely on his mind.
    â€œYou’ve solved a couple of murders.”
    â€œNo.” I wasn’t denying his statement. Rather, I could guess where this conversation was heading and I didn’t want any part of it.
    â€œYes, you did. There was Uncle Max, remember? And that Poodle guy last summer. I hate to say it, Mel, but maybe you have a knack for that kind of thing.”
    â€œFrank, Marcus Rattigan was an important man. The police are here, they’re mounting an investigation, and they’re going to do everything they can—”
    â€œBullshit! They’re going to try to pin this on me, Mel. I can see it coming. Even though I had nothing to do with Rattigan’s murder, I’m the easy choice, the obvious choice. You and I know it, and so do they.”
    â€œWhat do you think I can do?”
    â€œPoke around. Ask questions. Isn’t that what you did before?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œBut nothing,” said Frank. “You’re my sister. You have to help me.”
    I turned my back on him, fuming silently. Over the years I’d heard many variations on that same plea. You’re my sister, you have to share your cupcake with me. You’re my sister, you have to type my term paper. You’re my sister you have to help with my rent. But those instances paled beside what he was asking now.
    Was he right? I wondered. Would the police settle upon him as the obvious suspect and look no further? If so, my brother was in a lot of trouble. I’d been acting as Frank’s protector for years; but by now the role was wearing thin. Why was I the one who always had to be the family watchdog?
    â€œWell?” he prodded.
    â€œI suppose I could ask some questions,” I conceded. “But I’m not making any promises.