Marisa closed her eyes. “She died two years ago.”
Mrs. McNamara reached out and touched Marisa’s arm. “I’m so sorry.”
Marisa choked back a sob. Nancy hastily stood up. “Thank you for your help, Mrs. McNamara. We’d better be going.”
Nancy led Marisa and Misty to the car. “Are you okay?” Nancy asked as they buckled their seat belts.
Marisa wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Yes. It makes me so sad that my mother and grandmother never resolved their differences. I’m sorry I got so emotional in there. You probably wanted to ask Mrs. McNamara more questions.”
“No,” Nancy said. “I could tell she really didn’t have much information.”
“If you don’t have any plans this morning, will you let me cook you breakfast?” Marisa asked.
Nancy smiled. “I’d love it. Thanks.”
A little while later, Nancy found a space on University Boulevard and parallel parked her car across from Marisa’s apartment building. She looked both ways for traffic while Misty and Marisa stood on the curb.
“It’s clear,” Nancy said. She stepped off the curb.
“No—” Marisa said.
Misty whined and nudged Nancy backward. A black sports car sped around the corner, tires screeching. It streaked down the street and careened onto a side road, out of sight.
Nancy gasped. Her heart was pounding. If Misty hadn’t kept her from crossing the street, the car would have hit her. Where was that person going in such a hurry? Nancy hadn’t had time to see the license plate or even the make of the car.
“Thank you, Misty,” she said.
Marisa bent and hugged her dog. “Good girl, Misty. Good girl. Misty would never let us cross the street until it was really okay,” she said to Nancy.
Misty stepped off the curb.
“Okay, Misty. You’re the boss,” Nancy said. She and Marisa followed Misty across the street.
By the time they reached Marisa’s apartment, Nancy’s heartbeat had returned to its normal rate. Marisa and Misty led her on a tour of their small apartment.
“Everything is so well organized,” Nancy said.
“It has to be,” Marisa explained. “Not that I usually show people my closet, but . . .” She threw open her closet door.
Nancy reached out and fingered a silky purple dress. “This purple dress is gorgeous.”
Marisa smiled. “Thanks. Devon bought it for me. I love the way it feels. It’s also so distinctive, it helps me find my way around my closet. You will note that neatness is the key to getting by when you can’t see.”
Nancy noticed that Marisa’s wardrobe was arranged completely by color. Different colors hung on different types of hangers.
“My kitchen is the same way,” Marisa explained. “And if someone ever puts something back in the wrong place, I’m completely thrown. My grandmother gave Misty a can of dog biscuits shortly before she died, and Devon set them next to my cookie jar. Have you ever taken a bite of a dog biscuit?”
Nancy laughed. “Yuck.”
“Tell me about it,” Marisa said.
Nancy noticed the computer on Marisa’s desk. It had speakers, a CD-ROM drive, and an external modem. “This is pretty spiffy,” she said.
“I type, and it reads the words back to me,” Marisa said. “It’s incredible.” She turned it on and tapped out some letters on the keypad. As the words appeared on the screen, a male voice said, “Hello, Nancy.”
“That’s amazing,” Nancy said.
“I’d never get through law school without it.” Marisa led Nancy back to the living room. Braille textbooks and audiobooks were stacked on the coffee table.
“It’s a little cluttered,” Marisa said. “Sorry. I was studying this morning. I like to catch up on my work while I’m doing my chores.”
She pushed the Play button on her tape recorder as she entered the kitchen. “This is my Criminal Procedures tape. Listen to what it says about counterfeiting.”
After a moment of silence, a voice came from the tape player. It was the flat, male voice of Marisa’s talking computer: “I’m watching you, Marisa. Stop playing detective, or your days will be numbered.”
5
Recipe for Disaster
With a shaking hand, Marisa pressed the Stop button.
“Wait,” Nancy said. “You’d better not touch that. The police will want to dust for fingerprints.”
“Who’s calling the police?” Marisa stabbed the Eject button with her finger and yanked out the tape.
“Marisa,” Nancy said gently, “someone has just made a threat on your life.”
“Obviously this person doesn’t want me—us—working on the counterfeiting case. That only makes me want to work harder.” Marisa turned to face Nancy. “What about you?”
