I let out the breath I'd been holding and stood up, shoving my flashlight into my back pocket. This is not a dignified way to make a living, I thought. Hell, I wasn't even getting paid for this. I peered out of the shower door, making sure I hadn't been set up in some elaborate ruse. The house felt quiet except for Moza, who was opening the broom-closet door, still whispering, "Kinsey?"

"I'm in here," I said, voice booming.

I went out into the hall. Moza was so thrilled we hadn't been caught that she couldn't even get mad at me. She leaned against the wall, fanning herself I figured I better get out of there before they came back for something else, taking ten more years off my projected life-span.

"You're terrific," I murmured. "I'm indebted for life. I'll buy you dinner at Rosie's."

I moved through the kitchen, peering out the back door before I exited. It was fully dark by then, but I made sure the street was deserted before I stepped out of the shadow of Moza's house. Then I walked the half-block toward home laughing to myself. Actually, it's fun to horse around with danger. It's fun to snoop in people's dresser drawers. I might have turned to burgling houses if law enforcement hadn't beckoned to me first. With Lila, I was finally beginning to take control of a situation I didn't like and the surge of power made me feel nearly giddy with relief. I wasn't sure what she was up to, but I intended to find out.

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

When I was safely back in my apartment again, I took out the credit-card receipt I'd lifted from Lila's shoe box. The date on it was May 25 and the store was located in Las Cruces. The credit-card imprint read "Delia Sims." In the box marked "phone number," someone had obligingly penned in a phone number. I hauled out my telephone book and looked up the area code for Las Cruces. Five-oh-five. I picked up the receiver and dialed the number, wondering as I heard it ring on the far end just what I intended to say.

"Hello?" Man's voice. Middle-aged. No accent.

"Oh hello," I said smoothly. "I wonder if I might speak to Delia Sims."

There was a moment of silence. "Hang on."

A palm was secured across the mouthpiece and I could hear muffled conversation in the background.

The receiver was apparently taken over by someone else, because a new voice inquired, "May I help you?"

This one was female and I couldn't classify the age.

"Delia?" I said.

"Who is this, please?" The tone was guarded, as though the call might be obscene.

"Oh, sorry," I said. "This is Lucy Stansbury. That's not you, is it, Delia? It doesn't sound like your voice."

"This is a friend of Delia's. She not here at the moment. Was there something I might help you with?"