Fourteen
“MOM SENT YOU, DIDN’T she?” Gladys asks tersely when she opens her door. With seeming reluctance, she moves aside to let me in.
“She did,” I admit as I walk past her. “She’s worried about you.”
“Then maybe she shouldn’t have suspended me,” she says, slamming the door for emphasis.
“Now, Gladys,” I say with my hands on my hips, “you really didn’t give her much choice, did you? I was there when she ordered you specifically to stay away from this case, and then she caught you looking at the crime scene photos.”
“No, she’s wrong about that,” Gladys says, wheeling herself to a table with as impressive a computer setup as she has at the station. “I was not looking at the crime scene photos. I was studying the pictures someone sent Mom and me up close. She just thought they were the
