The supple leather interior was immaculate, and, Jane had to admit, incredibly comfortable. “You’ve got to forgive Phoebe. She’s off her meds.” Jake stared straight ahead, a look of serious concentration creasing his forehead. “What meds?” “For her ‘she’s crazy’ disorder.” Jake gunned his engine to make it through a yellow. “It runs in the family.” “Can you be a little more specific?” “Can I? I suppose I can be honest with Jane Adler, humble but righteous house-cleaner. Phoebe is bi-polar. She’s a brat when she’s medicated. When she’s off her meds she’s a crazy brat.” “How crazy, Jake?” “She just said she hated our dead mother. Is that crazy enough?” Jake cranked the wheel and made a fast, wide left turn. “Yeah. I’d say so.” Jane watched the suburbs fly past. Was Phoebe crazy enough to kill? “So, Jake…do you think your parents were murdered?” “Of course. Rich middle-aged Americans of average health don’t just up and die.
