“You’re a smart, accomplished woman,” recited Karen in a detached voice. “And you’ve got a great daughter. She’s really going to miss you.” Beatrice decided to ignore that last bit. She glanced around her to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon or if she could see anyone who could help her. All she could see was a sea of cars and not a soul around. Maybe if she could somehow swing her pocketbook at her? And if she could stall and keep Karen talking . . . “If you like me so much, Karen, why are you threatening me?” asked Beatrice in as reasonable a tone as she could muster. “I thought we were getting along so well together, too.” “There are a couple of problems with you, Beatrice. One is that you like poking into other people’s business. I wouldn’t have thought that about you, but all I’ve seen lately is you asking questions and trying to connect clues. Maybe you come by it honestly. Maybe it’s just the fact that evaluating and appraising art is similar to detective work, too,”
