Book 21 in the Alex Delaware series, 2007

Patty Bigelow hated surprises and did her best to avoid them.

God had other ideas.

Patty’s concept of a supreme being wavered between Ho-Ho-Ho Santa and a Fire-Eyed Odin thrusting thunderbolts.

Either way, a white-bearded guy bunking down in the clouds. Depending on his mood, dispensing goodies or playing marbles with the planets.

If pressed, Patty would’ve called herself an agnostic. But when life went haywire why not be like everyone else and blame A Greater Power?

The night Lydia surprised her, Patty had been home for a couple of hours, trying to wind down after a tough day in the E.R. Mellowing out with a beer, then another, and when that didn’t work, giving in to The Urge.

First, she straightened the apartment, doing stuff that didn’t need doing. She ended up using a toothbrush on the kitchen counter grout, cleaned the toothbrush with a wire brush that she washed under hot water and picked clean. Still tense, she saved the best for last: arranging her shoes-wiping each loafer, sneaker, and sandal clean with a chamois, sorting and re-sorting by color, making sure everything pointed outward at precisely the same angle.

Time for blouses and sweaters…the doorbell rang.

One twenty a.m. in Hollywood, who the heck would be dropping in?

Patty got irritated, then nervous. Should’ve bought that gun. She took a carving knife to the door, made sure to use the peephole.

Saw black sky, no one out there…oh, yes there was.

When she realized what Lydia had done, she stood there, too stunned to blame anyone.