Mina lived a few doors down from the pet shop. Every day she heard the neighbors complain about the bad smell and terrible cries of the unhappy animals, but no one was brave enough to complain about the terrifying owner…Once the animals were all together, Mina opened the door and they ran in a great stampede of fur and feathers across the rumbling bridge.
I could picture Petra’s face, the self-mocking pout she puts on when she knows she’s being a brat. The trouble was, of course, I would come to her rescue. And she was banking on that. Growing up the way I did, my mother dying when I was in high school, my father forced to turn the house and meals over to me, I felt as though I’d been born old. I was tired of my own knee-jerk reaction. You’re in trouble? Say no more. V.I., the grumpy cousin, will bail you out! I wished I knew how to turn off that particular switch. I wondered for a moment if my whole detective practice was built on my private history of being an adolescent caretaker.