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chair across from her. “I seem to have left my magnifying glass at home today.”
    She sipped her latte and it burned the tip of her tongue. She’d need to remember that Sam made scalding hot lattes.
    “So will I be able to actually live in my new house?” she asked hopefully.
    “Not yet, I’m afraid. The bones have been removed, but there’s a lot more work to do. If you give me your cell number, I’ll call you when we’re finished.”
    For a moment, Kit wondered whether there was another reason he’d asked for her number but chalked it up to wishful thinking.
    “A neighbor mentioned that you’d removed the living room carpet recently,” he said.
    “It was a crime against good taste,” she said and then winced. The man was investigating a murder in her house and she was making jokes. Classy.
    “It may contain evidence,” Romeo said. “Where’d you put it?”
    “I called the borough to have it taken it away,” Kit said. “Phyllis and Thora warned me that Peregrine would have a cow if I left it too long on the front lawn for the world to see.”
    Romeo looked thoughtful. “Phyllis Chilton, Thora Breckenridge and Peregrine Monroe.”
    “Impressive,” Kit said.
    “I have a good memory. It helps with my detecting.”
    “What color are my eyes?” she asked and squeezed her eyes shut.
    “Blue,” he replied without missing a beat. “With gold flecks. Pretty.”
    Kit opened her eyes and smiled. “Very impressive.” And smooth. Kit may not have committed any crimes, but looking at the handsome detective across from her, she knew she was definitely in trouble.

Chapter Three
    By the time Kit arrived home, the officers on her front lawn had been replaced by neighbors and other nosy Westdale residents.
    “We thought something had happened to you,” Phyllis said, rolling toward Kit on her scooter.
    “Not me,” Kit said. “Your old neighbor.”
    Phyllis nodded solemnly. “Ernie was a jackass, but may he rest in peace.”
    Kit noticed a woman standing on the sidewalk with two metal forearm crutches. “Who’s that?”
    Phyllis craned her neck. “Adelaide Pye. She lives at the far end, on the corner of Thornhill and Virginia Street.”
    “Why does she have crutches?”
    “Car accident,” Phyllis said quietly. “Best thing that ever happened to her, really. She was a nasty piece of work before that. No one could tolerate her. Now that she’s maimed, she’s everybody’s friend.”
    “Says the woman in the electric scooter,” Kit said wryly.
    “I can walk.” Phyllis raised her chin a fraction. “I just choose not to.”
    “Will you choose to walk if I invite you inside to see where I found the skeleton?”
    Phyllis’s eyes lit up. “Would you?”
    Kit nodded. “Quickly, I need to collect a few things before I decamp to Greyabbey.”
    Phyllis put her fingers to her lips and let out a shrieking whistle. “Thora,” Phyllis called. “Come on over. We’ve got an invite.”
    Kit saw Thora step out from behind her thriving rose bushes. What a difference a year without a motor home made.
    The two older women gave the other gawkers a victory sign with their fingers as they made their way into Kit’s house.
    Kit went straight to the living room. There was no need to point. The location was obvious now that the police had been there. More floorboards were ripped up and the house was far messier than Kit had left it. She picked up an empty Coke can in disgust.
    “Okay, seriously. They can at least take their own trash with them,” Kit huffed. “Can I get you ladies a drink? Hot tea?” Kit knew from childhood that older ladies in Westdale liked their hot tea.
    “Yes, please,” Thora answered.
    Phyllis and Thora stood perfectly still, staring at the gaping hole where the body had been buried.
    “That could have been either one of us,” Phyllis murmured.
    “Do you two have outstanding debt?” Kit asked.
    They shook their heads mutely.
    “Do people hate you?” Kit asked.
    They shook