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most.”
    “What’s
that?”
    I met Mom’s
brown eyes, so similar in appearance to mine, though hers were now surrounded
by crow’s feet, which she preferred to call “extended laugh lines.”
    “I didn’t notice
any unusual cars parked on the street. And there was a note for me on Edith’s
door that disappeared by the time the police arrived. That means it had to be
somebody in the immediate vicinity.” Somebody who was still there, watching
me, when I’d first arrived, I silently added, giving myself the shivers.
    “Who could
possibly have wanted to kill Cassandra?” I asked. “As far as I could see, she
was a stay-at-home mother, leading a quiet life out here...far from the maddening
crowd.”
    “That was my
impression, too.”
    Remembering
the horrific scene on Edith’s deck, a theory occurred to me that could explain
both the murder and Shogun’s disappearance. “Maybe I was way off on paw sizes,
and the prints I saw in the blood were from the husky, which could conceivably
have attacked and killed Shogun. If so, maybe Edith went nuts and killed
Cassandra accidentally. Cassandra might have bent down to grab the dog just as
Edith was in mid swing with the...rock that killed her.”
    Mom
shuddered a little at the image. I hated the theory myself, mostly because it
meant an innocent dog had been killed, in addition to Cassandra. “That’s not at
all likely, Allie.”
    “Did you
know Edith well? Are you sure she wouldn’t have done it?”
    Mom shook
her head and fidgeted with a crumb that had wedged itself into the seam between
the main section and one flap of the table. “I’ve never felt especially
comfortable around her. She’s always struck me as being too preoccupied with
appearances. I just meant that I couldn’t picture her going into a rage over
another dog injuring hers. Edith has never impressed me as being all that
devoted to Shogun. Besides, she’s so meticulous, I can’t imagine her doing
anything as messy as committing murder, especially not on her own property.’’
    Plus there
were those perfectly clean white pants of hers, which couldn’t have stayed that
way if she was the killer. I sorted through images of Edith I’d collected
throughout the day—sitting on our couch, so prim and proper; stepping
into Cassandra’s house and calling her “Cassie,” although Cassandra had seemed
tense. “I detected some...odd undercurrent going on between Cassandra and Edith
when I was at Cassandra’s house earlier. What do you know about their
relationship?”
    In a gesture
akin to a shrug, Mom tilted one hand, which now rested on the table. “They seem
to be the best of friends. They’re always dropping in on each other. The
families moved into the neighborhood within a year of each other, four or five
years ago. Even though the Cunninghams are a few years older and didn’t have
children, the couples seemed to socialize frequently.”
    “That
reminds me. Did you know the Cunninghams are getting a divorce?”
    “I’d heard
rumors, and it certainly doesn’t surprise me that they’re true. Trevor once
told me that Boulder was far enough out in the boonies for him, but that Edith
had insisted on moving out here to run her dress shop where there wasn’t the
stiff competition. As a matter of fact, a month or two ago, Cassandra mentioned
to me that Edith was trying to convince her to become a business partner, but
that she’d decided not to accept the offer. She was hoping to get pregnant
again soon and wanted to keep being a stay-at-home mom.”
    “Was there
anyone in the neighborhood who had a big grudge against her, or anything?”
    Mom tilted her
head and thought for a moment. “While you were being interviewed at the police
station, an officer spoke with me, too, and asked me that same question. But there
really wasn’t. She was a sweet, quiet person.”
    Pavlov was
standing by the sliding glass door, waiting to be let out, and Mom did the
honors. Her face looked weary, almost