Chapter 3

“I already told you; I’m on a case.”

She sighed. “Starbucks seemed less dangerous.” I showed her the burn mark next to my thumb. Whoever said not to cry over spilt milk didn’t have scalding milk spilt on them. “Still,” she added, “at least you didn’t have to wear rouge and lipstick.”

“I had to wear beige slacks,” I lamented. “Beige, Ma. Beige.” I emphasized it the third time. It beared emphasizing.

She sighed and moved onto the mascara. “Just don’t tell your dad.”

I giggled. The brush tickled. “I already did.”

She paused. She frowned. “What did he say?”

I shrugged. “He asked me not to tell our rabbi.”

Sagely, she nodded. “Smart.” She moved her head back a bit, to better take me in. “Not bad.”

I smiled. “Good genetics.”

I got a roll of her eyes in return. “I’m already helping; you don’t need to butter me up.”