Love Can Be Murder

you realize that Mr. Hagan was heavily in debt?"
    "We didn't discuss our finances with each other."
    "When you were out together, did he use cash or credit cards?"
    She squinted, trying to remember. "Cash, mostly."
    "His bank account is overdrawn. I ran a check on Mr. Hagan's credit cards, and they haven't been used since the Friday of his disappearance. Does he have access to any of your cards?"
    Jolie frowned. "No."
    "He might have stolen one of your cards. Have you noticed unusual activity on any of your accounts?"
    Jolie opened her mouth to say no, then realized she hadn't received this month's statement on her VISA and American Express. She'd been in such a hurry to get inside her apartment the last two nights, she hadn't even stopped to check the mail. "I haven't noticed, no."
    "Have you heard from Mr. Hagan?"
    "No," Jolie said. "But I had a hang-up on my home phone Monday night."
    "What time?"
    "Between seven thirty and eight."
    "You don't have caller ID?"
    "It's an old phone and the display is shot."
    "Do you think it was Mr. Hagan?"
    "I don't know," Jolie said. "I'm just trying to keep you informed."
    Salyers sighed into the phone. "Ms. Goodman, I want to believe that you had nothing to do with this, but I talked to the woman who lives above you. She said she had her window open one night a few weeks ago and heard you and a man arguing on your doorstep."
    Jolie frowned. "Mrs. Janklo? The woman has a hearing aid."
    "Well, she must’ve had the volume turned up. She said the two of you were arguing about your car."
    Jolie's mind spun, trying to recall what the woman might have overheard. A memory surfaced, and she gave a little laugh. "Oh, one night when Gary left, he was teasing me about how boring my car was, and I got a little indignant. That must have been what Mrs. Janklo heard."
    Salyers made a little snort of disbelief. "Do you remember when that conversation took place?"
    "Not really...maybe a week before he disappeared."
    A voice sounded in the background and the detective covered the phone to say something to someone, then came back on the line. "I have to take another call. But we'll be talking again, Ms. Goodman." Then she hung up.
    Jolie frowned at the phone, irritated that she was being cooperative and the woman still seemed intent on implicating her in this mess. In fact, the more information she shared, the more the detective seemed to misinterpret. Detective Salyers' response made her feel determined to find out more about Gary on her own. Maybe she could find him herself, encourage him to give himself up...and return her car.
    She stashed her phone and resumed walking toward the museum, which was lit up like a big luminaria adorning midtown. The building sat back from the street on a rise, and the long, sloping, ramped entrance was part of its architectural grandeur. A spectacularly dressed woman as tall as Carlotta Wren waited near the bottom of the ramp, but as Jolie drew closer and slowed her pace, she realized the woman was blond.
    "Thank God. I thought you had left me hanging," the woman said.
    Jolie squinted and walked closer. "Carlotta?"
    The woman laughed and touched her Marilyn Monroe-like hair. "Sorry—I should have told you that I might alter my appearance."
    "Is that a wig?"
    "Of course—don't you have wigs?"
    "No," Jolie said, feeling rather stodgy.
    Carlotta waved her hand. "Well then, let's get a look at you."
    Jolie stood stock still while Carlotta walked around her, perusing her modest black swing dress, clucking like a hen. "Not bad—are those real pearls?"
    Jolie nodded and touched her throat. "My mother's...mine now."
    "Nice touch." Then Carlotta looked down and frowned. "But your first purchase with your employee discount really must be shoes—what are those?"
    Jolie squirmed and looked down at her chunky-heeled slingbacks. "I don't know—I've had them for a while."
    "Hmm. Remember, vintage is good. Old is not good. But your makeup is great, and your hair is fabulous—what did you do to it?"
    "Washed and combed it."
    "Hmm. If you tell me it's naturally curly, I'm going to kill you."
    "Trust me, curly hair is much more trouble than it's worth."
    Carlotta sighed in obvious disagreement. "Let's go in before all the booze is gone."
    Jolie took a deep breath and followed the woman up the ramp. Carlotta had not adhered to her own advice to wear a black dress—her zebra-striped coatdress fairly glowed, and would have been almost loud, except it was overshadowed by her