Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) by Dane McCaslin Page A

comparing these woods, so cold and clean, to the damp pine forests of Louisiana. I loved my home, but I was becoming quite fond of this new vista as well.
    I stopped walking and turned to face Leslie, unsure how to phrase my concern.
    ‘Well?’ she asked, adding, ‘If you’re worried about the performance, don’t. You’ll do fine.’
    I shook my head.
    ‘No, it’s not that at all. I … well, I just don’t like the way the mix feels this time around, you know …?’ I looked at her earnestly, hoping that she would indeed know what I meant.
    ‘What do you mean, “the way the mix feels this time around”?’ It was Leslie’s turn to look quizzical. ‘Do you mean the local guys? The way they’ll portray the characters?’

‘No, not that so much as the way everyone responds to each other,’ I replied slowly, stooping down to pick a soft Colorado thistle. ‘I just felt, I don’t know, some strange vibes this morning.’
    Leslie laughed, brushing a friendly hand across my shoulders. ‘Oh, you mean Josie and the Men.’ The way she said it, the word, I could hear the capital ‘M’.
    ‘Yes, and no. I’m not making much sense here. I guess I want this whole thing to be as smooth as possible. Miss Bea has worked so hard on this and I’ll be damned if I let some outsiders wreck it for her.’
    I meant every word.
    ‘Yeah, I know how you feel. She’s amazing.’ We started walking again, taking the long way back to our trailer. ‘I don’t want her disappointed either.’ Leslie paused. ‘I think I’ll keep that Josie in my sight at all times. She’d be just the type to cause a ruckus.’
    I fervently agreed, although I still harbored a niggling feeling in the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure that what I had picked up on could be laid entirely at Josie’s pedicured and high-heeled feet.
    Miss Bea was in something of a tizzy when we returned to the trailer. Her hair, with normally just a few fingers of it waving about, now resembled an entire hand on top of her head.
    ‘Have either of you seen my handbag?’ We both stared at her, then at each other. I had indeed seen it; it was a very large, almost suitcase-size monstrosity and it wasn’t easy to lose.
    ‘You had it on your arm when we got here, I’m sure of it,’ replied Leslie, forehead crinkled with concentration. ‘When we stopped off at the McLaughlins’ for the keys, I saw you set it down on the table …’ Her voice trailed off. ‘Oh, dear, Miss Bea! Do you think that you left it there? In their office?’
    ‘I’ll get down there pronto and check it out, Miss Bea. You stay here with Leslie and, I don’t know, search around for it. I’ll be back in a flash.’ I was as good as my word.
    I jumped the steps that led from the front door and broke into a trot. While I was in reasonably good shape, I didn’t want pull a hammie or anything so dreadful, so I kept it to a slow run. The office wasn’t that far and I arrived in a short amount of time. As I rounded the corner of the faux log building, I drew up short: the office’s interior was dark, the front door shuttered, and the place deserted.
    Not one to shy away from a challenge, I strode around the other side of the office and pounded on the door marked ‘Private – Manager’s Residence’. It, too, seemed to be empty, but I redoubled the pounding, just in case the two McLaughlins were napping, or eating, or otherwise occupied.
    The door to a nearby trailer swung open, revealing a very grumpy woman with the ubiquitous lavender hair. Something clicked in my mind, and I took another look: I could not believe my eyes! It was the chatty old woman from the train, the one whose constant yammering had been outdone only by the screaming children. My jaw nearly dropped to the floor.
    ‘What are you trying to do, young lady?’ she barked, glaring at me through a fringe of hair. ‘Wake the dead? I am trying to get a nap here.’ Apparently she mistook ‘napping’ for something a little