Tumbling Blocks Read Online Free PDF

whispered, rubbing my lips across the silky top of his warm puppy head.
    She slammed the car door and marched toward us, her two-toned pumps making crackling sounds as they ate up the gravel parking lot. Her thin, Italian greyhound face was flushed pink with agitation. My mind frantically searched for something I could have possibly said or done to bring on this hissy fit. Nothing sprang immediately to mind. I clutched Boo closer to my chest.
    “Benni Harper,” she bellowed when she reached me. “You simply have to help me. Pinky has been murdered.”

CHAPTER 2
    “E XCUSE ME?” I SAID. PINKY? MURDER?
    “What is that?” She stared with open disgust at Boo.
    “A puppy,” I replied, still dumbfounded by her declaration and a bit afraid to ask who Pinky was.
    “I know that . What are you doing with it here? I hope it won’t interfere with your job.”
    “Watching him for a friend.” I just realized at that moment that Hud had not told me anything about Boo’s personality, tastes, habits and most important, how far along in the toilet training process the little guy was. Typical man. I shifted the dog in my arms. “And, no, he won’t interfere with my job. Don’t forget, our new neighbors are a doggie day care facility.”
    “Most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Day care for dogs.”
    I might have agreed with her at one time, but holding this puppy in my arms and trying to figure out how I’ll get all the things done I need to get done in the next two weeks, doggie day care seemed a lifesaver.
    Changing the subject seemed prudent at this moment. “Who is Pinky?”
    “You know her as Arva Edmondson.” Constance’s bright blue eyes filmed over, displaying an emotion I’d never seen in her: sadness. “Her friends called her Pinky. She was my dearest friend. She died five days ago.” She dipped her head, leaving me to inspect the top of her teased, champagne-colored hair. “She was only sixty years old.”
    “I’m so sorry, Constance,” I said, truly feeling bad for her, despite our often fractious relationship. I couldn’t imagine my life without Elvia. “Is there anything I can do?”
    I’d met Arva “Pinky” Edmondson at a few museum functions and vaguely remembered a slender, dark-haired woman with a laugh that was a tad more brassy than most society ladies, not that anyone faulted her on it. She seemed to be one of the leaders of Constance’s very elite group. It was not a surprise that I didn’t know her nickname. Like most of Constance’s friends, she hadn’t had any reason to do more than ask me to fetch her another glass of champagne. She was younger than most of Constance’s friends, who tended to be closer to her own age, somewhere in the mid to late seventies.
    Her head popped up, the determined and self-confident Constance back. “Yes, there is. You can find her murderer.”
    I must admit, her statement gave me pause. I was thinking more along the lines of baking a pie or helping her pick out music for Pinky’s memorial service.
    “Well,” I said, drawing the word out, trying to buy myself time. “That’s not exactly my job here at the folk art museum. Have you talked to the police?” Boo started to wiggle in my arms, his short nap over. I set him down on the ground, and he immediately squatted and relieved himself.
    “Oh, for heaven’s sakes,” Constance said. “I hope you’ll clean that up before the museum opens.”
    “Of course I will,” I said evenly. “Now, what happened to Pinky?”
    “I told you,” she said, enunciating each word. “She. Was. Murdered.”
    “How?”
    She waved her hand. “That doesn’t matter.”
    I waited a second before answering, a bit shocked by her statement. “Of course it matters, Constance. How did she die?”
    “Your husband,” she said, spitting the words out like they were a bite of sour orange.
    I inhaled deeply, mentally counting to ten. “What about him?”
    “He refuses to investigate.”
    This was awkward. But, I