No Neighborhood for Old Women (A Kelly O'Connell Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page A

so he’d done a comb-over like too many balding men. His pale eyes were hidden behind wire-framed spectacles, and his expression was cautious. He could have been anywhere from fifty to seventy—I couldn’t hazard a guess.
    “Oh, no,” I stammered. “I was just curious. I used to live two doors down from Mrs. Dodson, and I heard she died last night.”
    “Yes,” he said. “An accident. I told her she should get someone to fix those stairs, but if you were her neighbor, you knew Florence Dodson. She didn’t take advice from anyone.”
    “Did you know her well?”
    He smiled. “No, we were neighbors across this alley. I live there,” he jerked his head in the direction of the house behind him. “I’m Ralph Hoskins.”
    “Kelly O’Connell,” I said, putting a hand out to shake his proffered hand, which proved to be surprisingly firm.
    “She could be…ah…a bit difficult,” he said. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but she complained a lot about my dog. He doesn’t bark as much as that yippy little thing of hers.”
    I realized a dog was barking from across the alley, the kind of bored bark a biggish dog gives just to let the world know of its frustration, and I remembered that Mrs. Dodson’s dog, sort of a terrier-mutt cross, was the light of her life. And Mike didn’t mention the dog last night.
    “What happened to Mrs. Dodson’s dog?”
    He shrugged. “That mutt? I don’t know. I suppose the police took it to a shelter. I haven’t heard it barking today.” He paused a minute, then, “I’d like to know when the service will be. I sort of feel I ought to pay my respects, even though we weren’t on friendly terms.”
    “Me too,” I said. “I’ll let you know. I know the policeman who was here last night, and I’m sure he’ll know.”
    “Thanks. Oh, by the way, just curious—did you live in the house where the woman shot her husband last night?”
    “Yes…yes I did. How did you know about that?”
    “Oh, word’s all over the neighborhood. Some of us watched him being taken away in the ambulance. We never did…oh…feel that they fit in the neighborhood. Noisy fights and all.” With that, he turned and said, “Well, I’ve got to walk Chester now. Nice to meet you, Ms. O’Connell.”
    “You too,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I meant it. He was every bit the gossip Florence Dodson was. I watched as he got Chester from the backyard, a beautiful yellow lab that wagged his tail at the prospect of a walk but obeyed when his master said, “Heel, Chester,” and pulled too hard on the leash.
    I called Mike to ask about Florence’s dog. Of course, I woke him up which didn’t earn me brownie points. “What dog?” he mumbled. “I didn’t see any dog last night.”
    “Go back to sleep.”
    When I picked up both girls, I told them we’d have to go to Mrs. Dodson’s house and look for her dog. “Nobody saw him last night.”
    “Mrs. Dodson? Why can’t she take care of her own dog?” Em asked.
    Oops. I’d put the cart before the horse. “Mrs. Dodson fell down the stairs at her house last night. She died, girls.”
    Maggie started to wail, but Em said matter-of-factly, “That’s too bad, but she shouldn’t have been walking down the stairs in the dark.”
    “Em, that’s heartless,” Maggie cried. “Poor old lady.”
    Em shrugged. “She was old.”
    “That’s mean.”
    I kept silent, not pointing out that it wasn’t dark when she died and it was indeed heartless to dismiss her death just because she was old. Was Em going to pick up the same stereotypes Mike had? At Mrs. Dodson’s house, I parked in front. Then I asked, “Girls, do you know what that little dog’s name is?”
    “Gus,” Maggie said. “I used to stop and play with him when she walked him.”
    “Okay, start calling Gus.” I wished I’d gotten some doggy treats.
    The girls split, looking into the tall nandinas in front of the porch, going down each side of the house, each calling, “Gus,” at the