she opened the door. “Yes?”
“Hi, I’m Tobi Fletcher from the Santa Fe Daily , I’m here—”
She smiled a wide, genuine welcome. “It’s all right, I know. Davo told me. Come on in.”
I followed her past an assortment of children’s toys, as she turned the stereo volume down. We walked into the kitchen, “Like something to drink?”
“Sure,” I said, tentatively. “Coffee?”
Jazlyn— Janet? Jillian? —turned to the sink. “I’ll put a pot on.”
“You have a percolator?” I almost fell on my knees to praise the coffee gods who’d led me to her house. “You’re a lifesaver—I haven’t drunk as much tea in my life as I have in the last two days on Los Alamos Court. I didn’t know half these teas existed.”
Jazlyn— Jenny? Jody? —laughed and spooned coffee into the filter. A small dark-haired boy came in with wet cheeks and his thumb in his mouth. He looked dubiously at me as he edged his way to his mother and wrapped an arm around her leg.
I tried for a friendly, non-threatening smile—not an easy thing to achieve when there was a real-live child in my field of vision. “You must be Cosmo.”
He turned his head into his mother’s thigh.
“Sorry, he’s a little shy with strangers.”
Well, that was a relief. “That’s okay, I’m a little shy with children.”
She put the coffee on the stove and we moved over to the dining table. Cosmo clambered up into a chair beside his mother. I flicked open my notebook and took a nice, newly sharpened pencil from the tube I kept in my bag.
“So, Jazlyn, I assume you heard what happened?”
“The gnomicides?” she asked, straight-faced.
And I’d had hopes of her being relatively normal. “Yes. Any ideas on who’s doing it?”
“Well, actually …” She picked up a cushion from another chair and settled it behind her back, wriggled to get comfy, then continued. “I was reading a novel a few months ago where a property developer was trying to scare people, so they’d sell their houses cheaply to him.”
The old Evil Corporate Manipulation angle; I liked it: heaps of potential for a newspaper story. I scribbled some notes. “Has a developer made anyone an offer?”
“Well, no.” She frowned.
“Not to worry.” I made a memo to check with the journalist who covered business on the paper for background. “Has anyone received letters from a developer?”
“No.” She wiggled into her cushions more.
I looked up slowly as a sinking feeling dropped into my stomach. “Have you heard there’s a developer interested in Los Alamos Court?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “No.”
Of course, this was my own fault. Where had the other residents’ theories gotten me? “Has there been any contact, in any form, between any developer and any resident of Los Alamos Court?”
“No.”
I pushed my pencil into the metal spiral at the top of my notebook and laid it on the table. “So, you’re basing this whole theory on something you read in a novel a few months back?”
“Even though there’s not a lot of evidence—”
“There’s no evidence.”
“—there’s also nothing to say it’s not a developer. The property values are going up and there’s that new development a few blocks away.”
I sighed. True. And it’d make a better story than the Doggie Payback. Which reminded me … “I heard about your little problem with Deefer.”
The coffee maker gurgled and steamed, announcing the brew was ready. Jazlyn pushed herself out of the chair, tummy first, to pour the mugs. “The poor girl—accosted by that bully over the road.”
I accepted my cup gratefully. “Bully? Remington? That teeny-tiny Australian Silky Terrier?”
Jazlyn— Janice? Janine?— nodded. “Deefer’s a sweet, timid girl and he lords it over her. Here, I’ll show you. Deefer! Come here, girl!”
All three of us turned expectantly to the back door and waited. And waited. I sipped my coffee.
Then, very slowly, a wrinkle-faced, dopey-looking
“Hi, I’m Tobi Fletcher from the Santa Fe Daily , I’m here—”
She smiled a wide, genuine welcome. “It’s all right, I know. Davo told me. Come on in.”
I followed her past an assortment of children’s toys, as she turned the stereo volume down. We walked into the kitchen, “Like something to drink?”
“Sure,” I said, tentatively. “Coffee?”
Jazlyn— Janet? Jillian? —turned to the sink. “I’ll put a pot on.”
“You have a percolator?” I almost fell on my knees to praise the coffee gods who’d led me to her house. “You’re a lifesaver—I haven’t drunk as much tea in my life as I have in the last two days on Los Alamos Court. I didn’t know half these teas existed.”
Jazlyn— Jenny? Jody? —laughed and spooned coffee into the filter. A small dark-haired boy came in with wet cheeks and his thumb in his mouth. He looked dubiously at me as he edged his way to his mother and wrapped an arm around her leg.
I tried for a friendly, non-threatening smile—not an easy thing to achieve when there was a real-live child in my field of vision. “You must be Cosmo.”
He turned his head into his mother’s thigh.
“Sorry, he’s a little shy with strangers.”
Well, that was a relief. “That’s okay, I’m a little shy with children.”
She put the coffee on the stove and we moved over to the dining table. Cosmo clambered up into a chair beside his mother. I flicked open my notebook and took a nice, newly sharpened pencil from the tube I kept in my bag.
“So, Jazlyn, I assume you heard what happened?”
“The gnomicides?” she asked, straight-faced.
And I’d had hopes of her being relatively normal. “Yes. Any ideas on who’s doing it?”
“Well, actually …” She picked up a cushion from another chair and settled it behind her back, wriggled to get comfy, then continued. “I was reading a novel a few months ago where a property developer was trying to scare people, so they’d sell their houses cheaply to him.”
The old Evil Corporate Manipulation angle; I liked it: heaps of potential for a newspaper story. I scribbled some notes. “Has a developer made anyone an offer?”
“Well, no.” She frowned.
“Not to worry.” I made a memo to check with the journalist who covered business on the paper for background. “Has anyone received letters from a developer?”
“No.” She wiggled into her cushions more.
I looked up slowly as a sinking feeling dropped into my stomach. “Have you heard there’s a developer interested in Los Alamos Court?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “No.”
Of course, this was my own fault. Where had the other residents’ theories gotten me? “Has there been any contact, in any form, between any developer and any resident of Los Alamos Court?”
“No.”
I pushed my pencil into the metal spiral at the top of my notebook and laid it on the table. “So, you’re basing this whole theory on something you read in a novel a few months back?”
“Even though there’s not a lot of evidence—”
“There’s no evidence.”
“—there’s also nothing to say it’s not a developer. The property values are going up and there’s that new development a few blocks away.”
I sighed. True. And it’d make a better story than the Doggie Payback. Which reminded me … “I heard about your little problem with Deefer.”
The coffee maker gurgled and steamed, announcing the brew was ready. Jazlyn pushed herself out of the chair, tummy first, to pour the mugs. “The poor girl—accosted by that bully over the road.”
I accepted my cup gratefully. “Bully? Remington? That teeny-tiny Australian Silky Terrier?”
Jazlyn— Janice? Janine?— nodded. “Deefer’s a sweet, timid girl and he lords it over her. Here, I’ll show you. Deefer! Come here, girl!”
All three of us turned expectantly to the back door and waited. And waited. I sipped my coffee.
Then, very slowly, a wrinkle-faced, dopey-looking
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