Page 43 of Kiss of Wrath

At ten a.m., she asked what he was doing.

“I am putting motion detectors on your roof.”

“Please God, don’t tell me you are up on the roof.”

“This is not a good time for me to talk. Oops!”

“Mordr! Mordr!” she yelled into her cell phone.

Finally, he spoke again, “I slipped, but all is well.”

“Get off the damn roof!”

He hung up on her.

Oh my God! Did he fall off the roof? I hope my homeowners’ policy covers this liability. I can hear my insurance agent now. “And what was a Viking nanny doing on your roof?” Heart racing, she called right back.

He sighed into the phone. “Miranda, you must stop calling me, lest I get no work done.”

“Are you on the roof again?”

Instead of answering her question, he said, “Did you know your neighbor cleans her house in the nude?”

“What neighbor?”

“The pink house, across the street and over one.”

He was on the roof! “Mrs. Edmonds? She’s sixty if she is a day.”

“Hmm. She is well-preserved for an elder. You should see her bend over to vacuum under the sofa.”

“You’re going to be arrested for being a Peeping Tom.”

“I do not know this peeping person, but if anyone is arrested it will be Mrs. Edmonds for . . . oh.” He released a snort of disbelief, like suppressed laughter.

“What? What now?”

“She has a tattoo of two kissing pigs on her belly, low down.”

“How can you tell what the tattoo is from that distance? Are you using binoculars?”

“No. I have exceptional vision.” On those words, he hung up on her. Again.

Miranda finished the paperwork in her office, put all the necessary files in her briefcase, and headed toward her van for the short drive to the courthouse. Two hours later, after testifying on behalf of Edgar Harris, her client, hopefully helping him to thumb his nose at his ungrateful children, she talked in the hall to the opposing psychologist on the case, Jerome “Call Me Jerry” Daltry. A real slimeball, who made his living as an “expert” witness in court proceedings around the country. She told him exactly what she thought of him, and he had the nerve to ask if she was free for dinner that night. “Not even if I were starving to death!” she replied.

But Jerry’s mention of food reminded her that it had been five hours since her short breakfast with Mordr that morning, so she hit the drive-through at Wendy’s where she got a salad and diet soda to eat back in the office, where she had client appointments lined up all afternoon. Okay, she also ordered a cheeseburger and small fries. So kill me!

She resisted calling home until one-thirty, post yummy lunch. “How are things going, Mordr?”

“Fine. Your cleaning person is helping me decide what to make for dinner.”

“Mrs. Delgado?” The usually stoic Mrs. Delgado rarely spoke to Miranda unless asked a direct question. She wouldn’t help Miranda choose dish detergent if asked, let alone plan a dinner. In fact, she’d informed Miranda on being hired that she didn’t do windows, babysitting, or dinners.

“Do you have more than one cleaning person?”

“No. Are you being sarcastic?”

Another sigh. “Why are you calling, Miranda?”