afraid of approaching strangers.
The redheaded man swerved his gaze back in her direction, a questioning look on his face.
“C Aisquith at lycos dot com?”
He nodded, blue eyes narrowing. “And you must be Edie one-oh-three at earthlink dot com. I would normally say ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ but given the dire content of your electronic missive, that may be a bit premature.” Like Jonathan Padgham, he had a cultured English accent. “I’m curious. How did you recognize me? There must be a hundred people milling about.”
“Lucky guess,” she replied, shrugging. “That and the fact that you have the same British ‘I’m so superior’ air about you that Dr. Padgham had.”
One side of the man’s mouth quirked upward. “Had? I can’t imagine old Padge has changed all that much.”
Edie swallowed, the moment of truth having arrived much too abruptly.
“I said ‘had’ for a reason . . . he’s dead. Jonathan Padgham was killed a little over an hour ago. And just my luck, I’m the only witness to the murder.”
CHAPTER 9
“. . . And if they find us, we’re both going to wish we’d had the foresight to prepurchase a headstone and burial plot.”
For several moments Caedmon Aisquith stared at the paranoid, Pre-Raphaelite beauty standing before him. Like a raving-mad maestro, she used her hands to punctuate the nonsensical words issuing from her chapped, bloodstained lips.
“Why contact me? Why not go to the authorities?” He spoke calmly, not wanting to tip the scales from raving mad to stark-raving mad .
“Because ‘the authorities’ were in on the kill, that’s why. As in dirty cops and FBI infiltrators. They mistakenly believe that Dr. Padgham sent you an e-mail right before he died,” she answered, clearly unable to speak in coherent sentences. “That’s why they want to kill you. And trust me, killing you would be child’s play for these guys. Like the Grim Reaper pulling the Energizer Bunny right out of the ol’ top hat.”
“Mmmm.” He wondered if she had taken some sort of hallucinatory drug.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I could say that you have a penchant for mixed metaphor.”
“Look, I’m dead serious. Emphasis on the word dead , just in case you’re too dense to get the message. You still don’t believe me? Fine. I’ve got the proof right here.”
“Indeed.”
She began to rummage through the tote bag hanging off her leather-clad shoulder. Peering inside, Caedmon caught sight of what looked to be a manila file folder and a box of frozen vegetables.
It was plain as a pikestaff; the woman was absolutely bonkers.
With a determined look on her face, she removed a khaki-colored waistcoat from the tote bag and brandished the garment in front of his face. “I was wearing this when Dr. Padgham was murdered. When I had to crawl over his body”—her chest visibly heaved—“that’s his blood smeared on the front of my vest.”
“May I?” Caedmon touched the bloodstain, surprised to discover that it was wet.
Were it not for the still-damp bloodstain and the faint smell of vomit, he would have dismissed the woman outright. Instead, he removed his mobile phone from his breast pocket.
“What are you doing?” Edie Miller frantically grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from raising the mobile to his ear. “If you call the police, we’re as good as dead.”
“If you would be so kind as to unhand me, I’m going to ring Padgham.” And, hopefully, get to the bottom of this lunacy.
“Be my guest,” she muttered, releasing her hellion’s grip.
He let the phone ring five times, disconnecting when an automated message began to play.
“It appears that the old boy has turned off his mobile.”
“Wrong!” Edie Miller screeched at him, garnering several sideways glances from passersby. “The old boy is lying under his desk in a pool of his own blood.”
Worried that she might continue to draw unwanted attention, he motioned to the
The redheaded man swerved his gaze back in her direction, a questioning look on his face.
“C Aisquith at lycos dot com?”
He nodded, blue eyes narrowing. “And you must be Edie one-oh-three at earthlink dot com. I would normally say ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance,’ but given the dire content of your electronic missive, that may be a bit premature.” Like Jonathan Padgham, he had a cultured English accent. “I’m curious. How did you recognize me? There must be a hundred people milling about.”
“Lucky guess,” she replied, shrugging. “That and the fact that you have the same British ‘I’m so superior’ air about you that Dr. Padgham had.”
One side of the man’s mouth quirked upward. “Had? I can’t imagine old Padge has changed all that much.”
Edie swallowed, the moment of truth having arrived much too abruptly.
“I said ‘had’ for a reason . . . he’s dead. Jonathan Padgham was killed a little over an hour ago. And just my luck, I’m the only witness to the murder.”
CHAPTER 9
“. . . And if they find us, we’re both going to wish we’d had the foresight to prepurchase a headstone and burial plot.”
For several moments Caedmon Aisquith stared at the paranoid, Pre-Raphaelite beauty standing before him. Like a raving-mad maestro, she used her hands to punctuate the nonsensical words issuing from her chapped, bloodstained lips.
“Why contact me? Why not go to the authorities?” He spoke calmly, not wanting to tip the scales from raving mad to stark-raving mad .
“Because ‘the authorities’ were in on the kill, that’s why. As in dirty cops and FBI infiltrators. They mistakenly believe that Dr. Padgham sent you an e-mail right before he died,” she answered, clearly unable to speak in coherent sentences. “That’s why they want to kill you. And trust me, killing you would be child’s play for these guys. Like the Grim Reaper pulling the Energizer Bunny right out of the ol’ top hat.”
“Mmmm.” He wondered if she had taken some sort of hallucinatory drug.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I could say that you have a penchant for mixed metaphor.”
“Look, I’m dead serious. Emphasis on the word dead , just in case you’re too dense to get the message. You still don’t believe me? Fine. I’ve got the proof right here.”
“Indeed.”
She began to rummage through the tote bag hanging off her leather-clad shoulder. Peering inside, Caedmon caught sight of what looked to be a manila file folder and a box of frozen vegetables.
It was plain as a pikestaff; the woman was absolutely bonkers.
With a determined look on her face, she removed a khaki-colored waistcoat from the tote bag and brandished the garment in front of his face. “I was wearing this when Dr. Padgham was murdered. When I had to crawl over his body”—her chest visibly heaved—“that’s his blood smeared on the front of my vest.”
“May I?” Caedmon touched the bloodstain, surprised to discover that it was wet.
Were it not for the still-damp bloodstain and the faint smell of vomit, he would have dismissed the woman outright. Instead, he removed his mobile phone from his breast pocket.
“What are you doing?” Edie Miller frantically grabbed him by the arm, preventing him from raising the mobile to his ear. “If you call the police, we’re as good as dead.”
“If you would be so kind as to unhand me, I’m going to ring Padgham.” And, hopefully, get to the bottom of this lunacy.
“Be my guest,” she muttered, releasing her hellion’s grip.
He let the phone ring five times, disconnecting when an automated message began to play.
“It appears that the old boy has turned off his mobile.”
“Wrong!” Edie Miller screeched at him, garnering several sideways glances from passersby. “The old boy is lying under his desk in a pool of his own blood.”
Worried that she might continue to draw unwanted attention, he motioned to the
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