Instead, I dragged my tired and embarrassed self over to the agency's parking garage to swap my conspicuous, cherry red Ferrari for my reliable, unremarkable VW and headed over to the Bonneville Avenue to do a sulky stakeout on the weird neighbor since the Schuberts called to say the strange noises had been on and off all day. Maybe I could complete this case without it blowing up in my face. I checked on Lily before the stakeout and found her lying on the sofa, looking red-eyed and pale. She told me she didn't think she had a single tear left. Freshly stocked with new magazines and snacks, which I brought over, like that made any difference to her grief, I shed a few tears for her after I got back into my car. Aidan Marsh's car was gone and the house seemed empty when I got there. After the last time, I saw no point in canvassing the house or rear yard again, and certainly not without my look-out-slash-partner in “It's-not-a-crime-if-no-one-sees-you-doing-it.” Retouching my mascara, I checked my reflection in my small pocket mirror, while feeling horribly selfish for not staying with Lily.
