Death on a Deadline

bed.” She cleared her throat and laughed. “But I’m awake now. So what’s up?”
    “I need you to listen to this Dear Prudence letter.”
    “I thought I was the one addicted to them—”
    I didn’t let her finish. “ ‘Dear Prudence, my fiancé’s job requires him to be outside on his feet all day. We hardly ever go out or do the fun things we used to do. Even though he says he still loves me, he just wants to rent a movie and order takeout every night. He claims this is an investment in our future—that he’s working extra hard to build his reputation and his schedule will smooth out later. But my life is boring and empty. What should I do?’ It’s signed ‘Lonely in Lake View’!”
    “ Fascinatin’,” Carly drawled. “Sounds like she’s got some serious growing up to do. And this is worth waking me up for because. . .?”
    “It has to be written by Elliott’s fiancée.” I’d not been surer of anything since we’d started trying to solve this mystery.
    “How do you figure that?”
    “Listen to the answer. ‘Don’t waste time waiting for a man to make you happy. Get a life. Take charge of your own destiny and lose the loser.’ ”
    “Ouch.”
    “Remember what Zac said about Elliott’s girlfriend leaving over something to do with the newspaper? If an anonymous columnist gave your fiancée that kind of advice and she left you, wouldn’t you confront the editor?”
    “Probably. But I wouldn’t kill him.” Carly was definitely wide-awake now and apparently remembering the chemistry between her and the handsome golf pro.
    “You would if you were obsessed with the woman. And a little bit psycho.”
    Silence.
    “ Carly, I’m sorry. I know he seems nice, but we have to consider all the possibilities.”
    “Yeah, you may be right. Move him to the top of the list for now.”
    I hung up feeling lower than a snake’s belly. My sister deserved whatever happiness she could find, and for all I knew Elliott was a fine Christian man. But she was right. For now, he belonged at the top of our suspect list.

Nine

    I could sleep through a lot of noises. Dripping faucet, worn-out refrigerator motor, Neuro snoring. But even I couldn’t sleep soundly enough to ignore a dog howling outside the front door at four in the morning.
    I threw back the comforter and slipped on the Tweety Bird slippers Carly had bought me as some kind of sick prank on Neuro. I don’t think they bothered the cat, but Carly got a kick out of them. Neuro raised her head and blinked sleepily at me from her position at the foot of the bed. I stumbled down the hall to the front door. The cat, wide-awake now, was hot on my heels.
    I stopped, hand on the knob. What if someone were torturing that poor dog so I’d unlock my door in the middle of the night? The howls were bloodcurdling. With a murderer on the loose in Lake View, a girl couldn’t be too careful. I peeked out the window. The golden retriever was so pressed against my front door, he was barely visible, but I knew he was there by the endless off-key song. Persistence. I admired that in people, but it was downright annoying in a dog.
    I’d put cat food out for him the last couple of days, praying he wouldn’t get sick. Other than his ceaseless attempts to get into the house, he seemed happy enough. He didn’t even bark at Neuro anymore and I’m almost positive I caught them rubbing noses through the window last night.
    So why howl now? I couldn’t help but suspect he’d calculated his odds of catching me in that particular sleep-deprived state that will make a person do almost anything to go back to la-la land. And as bad as I hated to admit it, he’d chosen his time wisely.
    I picked Neuro up and opened the front door. For a brief second, he hesitated, then bounded into the house. Neuro stiffened and snuggled closer to me. I reached out one hand to pat the dog on the head. “Will the laundry room do, Mr. Persistence?”
    He chuffed in what I hoped was agreement.
    “I’ll have to shut the door.” I resisted the urge to talk anymore. If I got too awake, I’d take him back outside where he belonged. A couple of dirty towels made a soft bed, and I filled an empty Cool Whip dish with water. He drank a little, then chased his tail around in a circle and collapsed on the towels, smiling. “Goodnight, Mr. Persi,” I said softly and closed the door.
    When it was time to get up and start the day, I was stunned to find no mess in the laundry room. And even