“Here’s a better idea. Stay at our house and recuperate,” Cat said. “We’re off to Aspen in another week. Use the house, please! Penelope would love your company.”

“Who’s Penelope?”

The little girls giggled behind me.

“Whooooooo’s Penelope?”

“She’s our friend,” they chorused.

“Let me think about it,” I said to my sister as we turned left onto Mississippi and pulled up to the blue Victorian apartment house I called home.

Cat was helping me out of the car when Cindy loped down the front steps with Sweet Martha running in front of her.

My euphoric doggy almost knocked me over, licking me and woofing so loudly I only hoped Cindy heard me thank her for taking care of my girl.

I waved good-bye to everyone and was bumping up the stairs fantasizing about a hot soak in my shower and a long sleep in my own bed, when the doorbell rang.

“Okay, okay,” I grumbled. My guess? I was getting flowers.

I clumped down the stairs again and flung open the door. A young stranger wearing khakis and a Santa Clara sweatshirt stood at the threshold with an envelope in hand. I didn’t believe his cheese-eating smile for a second.

“Lindsay Boxer?”

“Nope. Wrong address,” I said perkily. “I think she lives over on Kansas.”

The young man grinned steadily—and I heard the clatter of that other shoe dropping.

Chapter 13

“KILL,” I SAID TO Martha. She looked up at me and wagged her tail. Trained border collies respond to many commands, but “Kill” isn’t one of them. I took the envelope from the kid, who backed away with his hands in the air. I slammed the door shut with my cane.

Upstairs in my apartment, I took what was clearly a legal notice out to the glass-and-tubular-steel table on my terrace, which had a staggering view of San Francisco Bay. I carefully eased my sorry butt into a chair.