Part 15 (2/2)
Stella was silent for a few moments. ”Are you sure you're not exaggerating this?”
”No, I'm not exaggerating. I'm a grown man. I should know by now when a woman has the hots for me.”
”Yeah, but you could have misinterpreted it. You said she was fl.u.s.tered. Maybe she was having a rough morning and b.u.mping into you made her realize she needed to slow down, so she did.”
”Why do you find it so hard to believe that Betsy Brunelle was. .h.i.tting on me?”
”I don't. After meeting Jake yesterday, it makes perfect sense that she'd find you attractive. Not that you're unattractive, of course-on the contrary-but compared to Jake Brunelle ... well, that's like comparing me to Bunny.”
”So she was coming on to me because her husband looks like Gimli from Lord of the Rings. Is that what you think?”
”No ... .well, maybe a little ... um, I'm thinking it was probably part Gimli and part vulnerability.”
”Uh-huh. Some of us know better.” Nick flexed his biceps. ”Betsy Brunelle saw a fine male specimen and couldn't help herself. So you stick to your theories, Miss Marple.”
”Did you just call me Miss Marple? She was, like, a hundred years old.”
”Um, how about that Angela Lansbury character? What was her name?”
”Jessica Fletcher. Really? You think I look like Angela Lansbury?”
”No, I just can't think of any other female detectives. You're too old for Nancy Drew.”
”You're just getting even with me for suggesting that Betsy might not have been hitting on you.”
”No, not at all, sweetie. I'd never think of doing that. Hey, were there any women in those Charlie Chan movies?”
”No, why?”
”Because that way I could call you Number One Wife.”
”Keep it up and you'll be looking for Number Two Wife.”
”Hmmm ... now you may be on to something.”
Stella wadded the wax paper from her croissant and hurled it at Nick's head.
”Joking, joking,” he laughed as he s.h.i.+elded his face with his hand. ”So what's on tap for today?”
”I thought we'd start by checking in on our new neighbor, then follow it up with a shower at Alma's, a second visit with Alice, a chat with Jake Brunelle, and, finally, dinner.”
”You think maybe we can fit a short hike in there somewhere?”
”A hike?”
”Yeah. I know you want to move this case along, but I didn't sign up for the all-murder-all-the-time channel.”
”I know, but-”
”No buts. We're doing more than solving a mystery here, we're messing with people's lives. I want to find Weston's killer just as much as you do, but that doesn't mean I'm going to celebrate when we do.”
Stella frowned. ”You're right. I woke up in the middle of the night hoping that Alice or Alma or Mills isn't the killer. They've been so nice to us and ... well, I've kinda grown to like them.”
”Same here. h.e.l.l, given what we know about Weston, I'm pretty sure I'm going to feel bad no matter who gets arrested. Even crazy Hank Reid shouldn't be spending his final years in jail.”
”And Josh Middleton is just a kid.”
”I agree. That said, we're going to need a break. There's a brook that runs on this property just a few yards downhill from here. I say we walk down there later, before Alma comes for dinner, and clear our heads.”
”Sure. When in Vermont ...”
”You got it,” Nick smiled. ”Hey, speaking of dinner with Alma, I just thought of something.”
”What?”
”If Alma's the murderer, she might not be cooking us dinner. She might be coming here to poison us.”
”Well, it's a good thing she announced her dinner plans in front of the sheriff. That way, if we wind up dead, he'll know who did it.”
”What if he's in on it? He could have put Alma up to killing us. He could have stolen the poison from the evidence room at the station. They could be running away together tonight. Could you imagine? Our bodies could be out here for weeks before anyone looks for us.”
”Dinner had better be amazing, then,” Stella deadpanned before wandering back inside the camp to change out of her pajamas.
Stella and Nick stood in the middle of Maggie Lawson's front sitting room and gazed in astonishment at the wild collection of objects that littered the area. To call it a sitting or living room was something of a misnomer, for newspapers, collectibles, paintings, photos, and books had been stuffed into every corner and stacked onto every available surface, thus leaving no s.p.a.ce in which a human could sit and very little room for anything, save an insect, to live.
As Maggie shuffled around the adjacent dining room rearranging random items, Nick leaned in close to his wife and whispered, ”Hey, is it just me, or does it feel like we should we be looking for the dude with the gla.s.ses and red-and-white-striped s.h.i.+rt?”
Stella shushed him. ”I'm sorry I missed you the other day, Maggie. It was very kind of you to bring over those cupcakes.”
”I know why you're here, ya know.”
”Um, you do?”
”Yup. You want to know about my husband's treasure.”
Nick leaned toward his wife and asked, sotto voce, ”You want to board the crazy train first? Or should I do the honors?”
”I handled Reid; that makes this your party. Besides, if Betsy Brunelle is any indication, you have a way with women.”
”You just had to go there, didn't you?” Nick cleared his throat and used his normal voice again. ”So, what treasure are you talking about, Maggie?”
There was a pause from the other room. ”The treasure my Mack found and hid under the stairs-the treasure Weston stole from me.”
”Your husband found this treasure during his carting days?”
”Yup.”
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