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tree, and shot hoops with her cousins and brother in the driveway.
    The basketball net had deteriorated ages ago, but they still played every holiday. It didn’t seem to matter to anyone that there was nothing left but a bare metal hoop.
    Her brother was pretty decent . . . most of the time, but her cousins had been rascals. Rotten to the core. They still pulled pranks on her to this day. So far they hadn’t been able to top the stuff she’d pulled on them. She grinned. Of course, she always told them she was too pure and innocent to do anything wrong. God, she loved revenge warfare. Especially since most times she came out the winner.
    She got out of the car, strolling past the pink and purple petunias that bloomed in the flower beds running the TEMPERATURE’S RISING
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    length of the sidewalk, noticing that her father had added another basket of trailing ivy to the porch.
    That made four ivies, two ferns, and one spiked plant that he’d given her a cutting from, saying no one could kill that kind of plant. She had. Her thumb ran more toward purple than green. But her father loved growing them and had a pretty good knack for it. She shook her head. Someday his plants were going to be so thick you couldn’t get to the house.
    She smiled.
    Her father met her at the door . . . frowning.
    “Don’t young people dress for dinner anymore? What was all that talk about wanting to be a lady?” Ouch.
    She glanced down and felt the heat rising to her face.
    Loose, black button-down shirt and black tights.
    He had her there.
    She’d chosen the outfit because it was comfortable.
    But he was right. She didn’t look much like the lady she’d told him she wanted to be. This was her day off, though.
    “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” She jutted her chin forward. “It’s just the two of us, right? When you called and invited me to dinner you didn’t mention anyone else.”
    He ushered her in with one hand and shoved the door closed with the other.
    “Well, you never know when someone might drop by.” Her steps faltered. If her father were in court, the judge would throw the book at him just from the look on his face. It screamed: I’m guilty ! She’d seen that look at least a hundred times, and it usually involved a man.
    What was her matchmaking father plotting?
    She surveyed the room as if she expected single men to start popping out from the woodwork, but everything looked the same.

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    Karen Kelley
    The deep green drapes in the living room had been pulled back and the sheer panels exposed, letting the evening light cascade into the room. The furniture had been cleaned and dusted, giving the house a light, lemony smell.
    Her father had even filled the candy dish with caramels. Hmmm. And magazines on the coffee table . . .
    she stepped closer. New Bride ? June Bride ? Wedding Bells ? Baby Makes Three ! Good lord!
    She’d walked right into a trap. Her eyes narrowed.
    “Okay, Dad. What’s up? Why aren’t you at the office working on the burglary case?” The last time she’d spoken with him, that’s all he’d talked about.
    “Sometimes it helps me think better if I get away from the office.”
    He was right. It was a joke at the station that her father had solved a hell of a lot of cases with a dust cloth in his hand.
    His bushy eyebrows rose almost to his hairline. “Besides, can’t I invite my daughter to dinner? I’ve missed you.”
    “Missed me? I saw you Monday when supercop arrested me. I talked to you on the phone Tuesday, and this is just Friday.” She paused, her gaze skimming over him.
    Odd magazines? Not remembering when he’d last seen her?
    Maybe it wasn’t a setup?
    It could be something entirely different. Fear swept over her. No one ever wanted to believe their parents were creeping up on . . . old age, but her father wasn’t getting any younger.
    She hesitated before she asked the question uppermost in her mind. “You’re not getting forgetful, are you?” Something between a