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tablecloth was a piece of intricate but stained white crochet work. His eyebrows lifted but he said nothing.
    â€œSo what were you doing here today?” Larson asked.
    â€œWell, I came here trying to find Brad.”
    â€œWhat made you think he was here?” asked Sanders.
    â€œI knew he was doing some work for Mrs. Fairchild.”
    â€œAnd why were you looking for him?”
    I stumbled to come up with something plausible. I had just told Jay to report that Brad was missing. Would the police connect the two events?
    â€œI haven’t talked to him for a while and his partner was worried about him—”
    â€œAnother partner?” That was Larson, again with a leer.
    â€œJay is his life partner,” I said. “His significant other. They’re getting married.”
    â€œI see,” said Larson, his expression betraying the same distaste for Brad’s lifestyle as he had for my dog.
    â€œAnd why did you think to look here?” Larson asked.
    â€œShe was the last client he was working with,” I said, hating the way that came out.
    â€œAnd these are his invoices,” said Sanders, who had been sorting through the papers. “Looks like she hadn’t paid him for months.” He handed them to Larson.
    â€œIs it possible he came here to confront her about the unpaid invoices?” Larson asked.
    â€œAnd it got ugly,” Sanders went on. “Your friend Brad. He has a temper, doesn’t he?”
    I shook my head. “Absolutely not,” I told him. “Brad’s a sweetheart.”
    Larson rolled his eyes. “How can we get in touch with him?” he asked.
    â€œUm.”
    â€œUm is not an answer.” That was Sanders. He sounded like my seventh grade teacher.
    â€œThe truth is . . .” I hesitated, then decided I had to be honest. Pepe was shaking his head at me. Too bad. “Brad is missing.”
    Sanders sat up even straighter. “Since when?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know for sure,” I said. “Maybe a day or two? You’ll have to ask Jay.” I hoped that time frame would make it clear Brad could not have committed this murder. I hoped he really was on a buying binge.
    â€œWe may need to talk to you again,” said Larson, closing his notebook.
    â€œYes,” said Sanders. “We’ve got Brad’s business address here,” he continued, holding up one of Brad’s invoices. “We’ll go by there to look for him.”
    â€œThere were other people she wasn’t paying as well,” I said, quick to defend my friend.
    â€œYou don’t need to tell us how to do our job,” said Larson, getting up rather stiffly. “You stay out of it, this time.”
    â€œOf course,” I said, gathering up my dog and heading out the front door. But, of course, I wasn’t going to do that. I had to try to find Brad before the police did. I headed straight for the shop.
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    I tried my key again, but it still didn’t work. How was I going to investigate if I couldn’t get into the shop? Luckily, the back door key did work. I was a little nervous as I entered the dim workroom, afraid of what I might find.
    â€œPepe, I hope you will let me know if you smell muerte ,” I said as he ran ahead of me. I couldn’t bear the thought of finding Brad dead. But what other explanation could there be for his disappearance? I didn’t buy Jay’s thought that he ran off with another man. Brad was totally devoted to Jay. Or, at least, he had been.
    Pepe disappeared into the gloom. I felt my way to the light switch and flipped the switch. No lights. Apparently the electricity had been turned off.
    Some light filtered through the high dusty windows along the sides and I could see some familiar items: the big red-tail hawk with his wings outspread, which seemed to soar suspended by cords over the work area; the stuffed owl on top of the grandfather clock (Brad