Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream by Bernadine Fagan Page A
Authors: Bernadine Fagan
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Maine
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low, making it a tight fit. If I’d had breakfast or lunch I might not have made it. For a panicky moment I pictured getting stuck under the bed, having to call 911 and explain the situation. Calling Nick. No, I’d stay here before I’d call him.
The place was dust-bunny heaven. I wondered whether the cat spent any time under here. I couldn’t see too well. Could there be dangerous cat hairs lurking?
Something smelled sour.
When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out a bowl in front of me. Something awful was in that bowl, something worse than dust bunnies or menacing cat hairs, something that might have been milk a long time ago. I slid the bowl to the side, out of nose range.
I heard footsteps on the oak stairs, heard Percy whistling a song I couldn’t identify, not some mushy love song, but something hot and heavy, almost menacing.
I lifted the bed skirt a tiny bit and peeked out. I watched his black leather shoes march into the master bedroom. I dropped the bed skirt quickly. I felt nauseous. My head started to ache. And, of course, I still had to pee. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since before I had that cup of coffee at Hot Heads Heaven hours ago. Dear God, how long would he take? Did he and Marla do ‘quickies?’
More shoe noises. I chanced a peek. A pair of black patent leather stilettos with ankle straps clicked on by. Queen Marla had arrived.
The session from hell began.
I wished I were in a position to take photos, but I couldn’t chance it. I had the camera in my tote.
“You’re very naughty,” Percy said in an unctuous voice that sent a chill through me. “Coming this late? When I hired you as my maid I warned you not to be late, didn’t I?” His accent had morphed from Maine-ish to German-ish, or I was hearing things? It was hard to tell under this bed.
“Yes, sir,” came a high-pitched, meek voice.
He was walking around, each step smacking the floor loud enough to make me think Gestapo boots. Had he changed his shoes? I wished I could see. I risked another peek, lifting the bed skirt higher this time. He was walking around her. Inspecting her? He had a riding crop in his hand. I saw the bottom of it rap his boots. When his toes turned my way, I dropped the bed shirt. I heard sharp raps against leather. I think it was leather. I couldn’t tell for sure. I could only imagine. And under this dark bed, my imagination took wing.
“At least your uniform is properly ironed.”
I didn’t have to see her to know she was in costume. I wished I could get my hands up to cover my ears, but the space was too confining to cover them comfortably for any length of time. Lifting the bed skirt was challenge enough.
I also wished I could get to a bathroom. If I could just cross my legs …
Time moved at a snail’s pace. So much for the wish for a quickie. Marla was laughing one minute, bouncing on the bed the next, oofing and aahing and such. What was he doing to her? The pictures running through my head rivaled things I’d seen on the Playboy Channel. Not that I’m a big fan, but every now and again …
Then it began, the familiar symptoms that I had come to dread, the ones that signaled the presence of cat. My eyes began to tear. And itch. I had to rub them. I just had to. Despite the cramped position, I managed to get my hands near my face. Good thing, because I felt a sneeze coming, trying to work its way up and out.
While my hands were nearby, I held one over my mouth and nose and gave forth with an almost silent, but spitty, a-choo. In reflex my forehead struck the floor, and my arm upended the sour milk bowl.
“Ow.”
No time to wallow in self-pity. Another sneeze was waiting in the wings, a slow moving one, the absolute worst kind. Think pressure on magma, building, building. Think volcano. I wished I could force it and get it over with, but no.
Ah … . aah … .aaah …
It wouldn’t come. The blockbuster sneeze was gathering force for eruption.
What came was the damn
The place was dust-bunny heaven. I wondered whether the cat spent any time under here. I couldn’t see too well. Could there be dangerous cat hairs lurking?
Something smelled sour.
When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I made out a bowl in front of me. Something awful was in that bowl, something worse than dust bunnies or menacing cat hairs, something that might have been milk a long time ago. I slid the bowl to the side, out of nose range.
I heard footsteps on the oak stairs, heard Percy whistling a song I couldn’t identify, not some mushy love song, but something hot and heavy, almost menacing.
I lifted the bed skirt a tiny bit and peeked out. I watched his black leather shoes march into the master bedroom. I dropped the bed skirt quickly. I felt nauseous. My head started to ache. And, of course, I still had to pee. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom since before I had that cup of coffee at Hot Heads Heaven hours ago. Dear God, how long would he take? Did he and Marla do ‘quickies?’
More shoe noises. I chanced a peek. A pair of black patent leather stilettos with ankle straps clicked on by. Queen Marla had arrived.
The session from hell began.
I wished I were in a position to take photos, but I couldn’t chance it. I had the camera in my tote.
“You’re very naughty,” Percy said in an unctuous voice that sent a chill through me. “Coming this late? When I hired you as my maid I warned you not to be late, didn’t I?” His accent had morphed from Maine-ish to German-ish, or I was hearing things? It was hard to tell under this bed.
“Yes, sir,” came a high-pitched, meek voice.
He was walking around, each step smacking the floor loud enough to make me think Gestapo boots. Had he changed his shoes? I wished I could see. I risked another peek, lifting the bed skirt higher this time. He was walking around her. Inspecting her? He had a riding crop in his hand. I saw the bottom of it rap his boots. When his toes turned my way, I dropped the bed shirt. I heard sharp raps against leather. I think it was leather. I couldn’t tell for sure. I could only imagine. And under this dark bed, my imagination took wing.
“At least your uniform is properly ironed.”
I didn’t have to see her to know she was in costume. I wished I could get my hands up to cover my ears, but the space was too confining to cover them comfortably for any length of time. Lifting the bed skirt was challenge enough.
I also wished I could get to a bathroom. If I could just cross my legs …
Time moved at a snail’s pace. So much for the wish for a quickie. Marla was laughing one minute, bouncing on the bed the next, oofing and aahing and such. What was he doing to her? The pictures running through my head rivaled things I’d seen on the Playboy Channel. Not that I’m a big fan, but every now and again …
Then it began, the familiar symptoms that I had come to dread, the ones that signaled the presence of cat. My eyes began to tear. And itch. I had to rub them. I just had to. Despite the cramped position, I managed to get my hands near my face. Good thing, because I felt a sneeze coming, trying to work its way up and out.
While my hands were nearby, I held one over my mouth and nose and gave forth with an almost silent, but spitty, a-choo. In reflex my forehead struck the floor, and my arm upended the sour milk bowl.
“Ow.”
No time to wallow in self-pity. Another sneeze was waiting in the wings, a slow moving one, the absolute worst kind. Think pressure on magma, building, building. Think volcano. I wished I could force it and get it over with, but no.
Ah … . aah … .aaah …
It wouldn’t come. The blockbuster sneeze was gathering force for eruption.
What came was the damn
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