We returned to the car

We returned to the car. As I opened the driver’s door,nike shox torch 2, a sound from thehouse turned our heads.
Female voice,fake uggs, low, affectionate, talking to something white and fluffy,cradled to her chest.
She stepped out to the porch, saw us,Fake Designer Handbags, placed the object of her affection onthe floor. Looked at us some more and walked toward the sidewalk.
The physical dimensions fit Nora Dowd’s DMV stats but her hair was ablue-gray pageboy, the back cut high on the neck. She wore an oversized plumsweater over gray leggings and bright white running shoes.
Bouncy step but she faltered a couple of times.
She gave us a wide berth, started to walk south.
Milo said, “Ms. Dowd?”
She stopped. “Yes?” One single syllable didn’t justify a diagnosis ofsultry, but her voice was low and throaty.
Milo produced another card,Designer Handbags. Nora Dowd readit, handed it back. “This is about poor Michaela?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Under the shiny gray cap of hair, Nora Dowd’s face was round and rosy. Hereyes were big and slightly unfocused. Bloodshot; not the pink of Lou Giacomo’sorbs, these were almost scarlet at the rims. Elfin ears protruded past fine,gray strands. Her nose was a pert button.
Middle-aged woman trying to hold on to a bit of little girl. She seemed wellpast thirty-six. Turning her head, she caught some light and a corona of peachfuzz softened her chin. Lines tugged at her eyes, puckers cinched both lips.The ring around her neck was conclusive. The age on her driver’s license was afantasy. Standard Operating Procedure in a company town where the product wasfalse promises.
The white thing sat still, too still for any kind of dog I knew. Maybe a furhat? Then why had she talked to it?
Milo said, “Could we speak to you aboutMichaela, ma’am?”
Nora Dowd blinked. “You sound a little like Joe Friday. But he was asergeant, you outrank him.” She cocked a firm hip. “I met Jack Webb once. Evenwhen he wasn’t working, he liked those skinny black ties.”
“Jack was a prince, helped finance the Police Academy.About Michae—”
“Let’s walk. I need my exercise.”
She surged ahead of us, swung her arms exuberantly. “Michaela was all rightif you gave her enough structure. Her improv skills left something to bedesired. Frustrated, always frustrated.”
“About what?”
“Not being a star.”
“She have any talent?”
Nora Dowd’s smile was hard to read.
Milo said, “The one big improv she trieddidn’t work out so well.”
“Pardon?”
“The hoax she and Meserve pulled.”
“Yes, that.” Flat expression.
“What’d you think of that, Ms. Dowd?”
Dowd walked faster. Exposure to sunlight had irritated her bloodshot eyesand she blinked several times. Seemed to lose balance for a second, caughtherself.
Milo said, “The hoax—”
“What do I think? I think it was shoddy.”
“Shoddy how?”
“Poorly structured. In terms of theater.”
“I’m still not—”
“Lack of imagination,” she said. “The goal of any true performance isopenness. Revealing the self. What Michaela did insulted all that.”
“Michaela and Dylan.”
Nora Dowd again surged forward. Several steps later, she nodded.
I said, “Michaela thought you’d appreciate the creativity.”