Drip Dead

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: Neither the publisher nor the author is engaged in rendering professional advice or services to the individual reader. The ideas, projects, and suggestions contained in this book are not intended as a substitute for consulting with a professional. Neither the author nor the publisher shall be liable or responsible for any loss or damage allegedly arising from any information or suggestion in this book.

DRIP DEAD

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with Tekno Books

PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / February 2011

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eISBN: 9781101481233

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^®PRIME CRIME
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To all the mothers and daughters in my life, fighting and laughing and learning every day what it means to be a family:

Jeanne, Jan, Jeri, Lynette, Petula, Zoe, and all the rest. I love you.

acknowledgments

As always, thanks to my editors Michelle and Denise; my first reader and cheerleader, Colleen; husband and support system, Steve; and all my OWN buddies—especially Kris and Dean—for their friendship and moral support.

My gratitude also goes to Rita Frangie for her great covers, and an extra special shout-out to Brandon Dorman for his amazing artwork. I love those dogs!!

The aerator is the device on the tip of the faucet spout that mixes air and water. It can become clogged with dirt and minerals on the screen and disc and impede the movement of water in your faucet, so it needs to be cleaned regularly to maintain good water flow. Unscrew the aerator, using penetrating oil to loosen stubborn connections if needed. Disassemble the parts. If the screen or disc is damaged or clogged with mineral deposits, replace the parts—they’re available cheaply at any home or hardware store. Otherwise, if they seem in good condition, clean the screen and disc with soapy water and a brush, and use a pin or toothpick to open clogged holes in the disc. Flush the parts with clean water and reassemble.

—A Plumber’s Tip from Georgiana Neverall

chapter 1

I pointed the flashlight under my mother’s house and looked around. A series of concrete footings stretched into the gloom outside the flashlight’s beam, a heavy pier rising from each one to support the floor joists.

The high-powered beam cut through the darkness, throwing exaggerated shadows across the packed dirt beneath the house. It smelled damp, a mixture of dirt and heaven-knows-what-else that hadn’t been disturbed in years.

And I was going to voluntarily crawl under there.

Of course I was. A plumber spends a lot of time under houses, and I was a plumber. Well, almost a plumber. Just as soon as I passed my licensing exam I would be the real deal.

So what was stopping me from crawling under Mom’s house and checking out the foundation and the pipes?

The house was practically mine anyway. I’d agreed to buy it when Mom and Mr. Too-Smooth Gregory Whitlock got engaged and Mom had morphed into Pine Ridge, Oregon’s, most demanding bride-to-be. I’d agreed to be her maid of honor (“You really should be a matron of honor at your age, Georgiana, but since you refuse to get married . . .
”
). Then she announced she was moving into Gregory’s home, and offered to sell me her house, the house where I grew up.

Half of Mom’s stuff had already gone to Gregory’s. Even if I didn’t want to think about it, I knew she was probably sleeping at his house most every night.

Eeew!

They’re adults.

It’s perfectly normal.

They’re getting married.

All the arguments I’d given my sometimes boyfriend, Wade, when he talked about his mother dating again after her divorce rang in my head. But this was different. This was
my
mother. Completely different situation. Completely.

Was I having second thoughts about buying the house? Was that why I was stalling? Barry Hickey of Hickey & Hickey Plumbing—aka my boss—said it was a good deal, but could he be sure? How much did he really know about the condition of the house?

There was only one way to find out.

I pulled a mask over my nose and mouth, blocking out the musty smell that seeped from the crawl space, and wiggled through the opening. I wanted to get this over with before Sandra Neverall—mother, bridezilla extraordinaire, and doyenne of Whitlock Estates Realty—came home and decided to supervise.

I tried to get my bearings, mentally picturing the floor plan above my head. To the far right was a wall that divided the house from the garage. On this side of that wall was the kitchen.

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