Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream by Bernadine Fagan Page B
Authors: Bernadine Fagan
Tags: Mystery: Cozy - Maine
Ads: Link
cat, in person, nosing around, rubbing up against my leg. I tried to push him away. No such luck. He thought I was playing with him. I now had both hands guarding my nose. No way was I going to pull them away from nose detail and risk the escape of a loud sneeze. Some of my sneezes are sound-barrier-breakers, not cute, not genteel. I used to wish I had a cute and delicate girlie sneeze. I still wished that.
Body sounds from the other room got more interesting, but I was too busy trying to control my own body to imagine what Percy and Marla were doing.
The sneeze finally broke loose, a rip-snorter, and I pressed both hands tighter to cover the noise. I almost blew up. My head smacked the floor again, a real hard wallop this time. I’d have a bump for sure. The cat approached to investigate. Damn cat.
I had to get out of this hellhole. I really had to get to a bathroom fast. This detective business was getting old. I decided to risk sneaking out before the happy couple was finished. I prayed they would be too busy to notice someone scuttling along on the floor. From the sounds they were making, I figured they were very busy. My one regret was that I couldn’t peek in. Not that I’m a voyeur or anything, but God, they were going at it.
Percy’s different from most folks around here. He’s … tougher. Can be ruthless.
Nick’s warning ran through my head as I squirmed to the side of the bed. The need to sneeze was working its way up again, and each sneeze increased my chances of discovery, along with the lumps on my forehead. I had to stop moving.
When the sneeze arrived, it was a winner, the champion of all sneezes, a hall of famer.
Aaa-choo!
Aaa-choo!
Thwack. Bang. Two more lumps for a grand total of four. Wonderful. How attractive, Nora.
Marla moaned in ecstasy. “Oh, Percy.” Her voice still had that phony, high-pitched quality. “There’s no one like you. No one, my love.”
“Marla, Marla, I can’t get enough of you.”
Well, I’d had enough of both of them. I rubbed my eyes again and shifted my leg in an attempt to get the cat to move. He did. Right next to my face. Soon I’d be a candidate for the Emergency Room.
I pushed my tote, then myself, out from under the bed, not an easy task with the cat positioned where he was.
I squeaked as the cat’s claw snagged my sweater, caught, penetrated, and scratched my shoulder. I went into a holding pattern until I was sure no one had heard. It gave me time to be thankful I had chosen to wear sneakers instead of leather-bottomed shoes or boots. True, they didn’t go with the outfit, but Mary Fran equals sneakers. Hadn’t I learned that years ago?
With great care, I inched toward the door on my belly, sweeping the floor with my cashmere sweater and good slacks. I wanted to go to the bathroom. No chance. I crossed my legs for a second, took a deep breath, then uncrossed them and slithered into the hall like a recruit in basic training crawling under barbed wire. The damn cat followed. Cats love me. Once, a long time ago before I found out I was allergic to cats, I loved them, too. Maybe they sensed that. It’s like I’m the Pied Piper of felines.
After I successfully passed the bedroom door, I stood, and tiptoed to the stairs.
I remembered to skip the creaky third step on the way down.
When I finally reached the car, I was a wreck. Gasping for breath, heart slamming like a jackhammer, I started the engine and took off like I was shot from a cannon. I almost clipped a pickup truck stopped at the end of the driveway, a newspaper guy delivering papers.
* * *
Title me Desperate Detective. I was lost. I recognized this little bridge ahead since I’d been over it three times already. I looked around. Woods, woods and more woods, and a little stream. Where was I? I wondered, wriggling in my seat, seriously in need of a bathroom, considering getting out and peeing by the side of the road. The way things were going today, I’d probably squat in a
Body sounds from the other room got more interesting, but I was too busy trying to control my own body to imagine what Percy and Marla were doing.
The sneeze finally broke loose, a rip-snorter, and I pressed both hands tighter to cover the noise. I almost blew up. My head smacked the floor again, a real hard wallop this time. I’d have a bump for sure. The cat approached to investigate. Damn cat.
I had to get out of this hellhole. I really had to get to a bathroom fast. This detective business was getting old. I decided to risk sneaking out before the happy couple was finished. I prayed they would be too busy to notice someone scuttling along on the floor. From the sounds they were making, I figured they were very busy. My one regret was that I couldn’t peek in. Not that I’m a voyeur or anything, but God, they were going at it.
Percy’s different from most folks around here. He’s … tougher. Can be ruthless.
Nick’s warning ran through my head as I squirmed to the side of the bed. The need to sneeze was working its way up again, and each sneeze increased my chances of discovery, along with the lumps on my forehead. I had to stop moving.
When the sneeze arrived, it was a winner, the champion of all sneezes, a hall of famer.
Aaa-choo!
Aaa-choo!
Thwack. Bang. Two more lumps for a grand total of four. Wonderful. How attractive, Nora.
Marla moaned in ecstasy. “Oh, Percy.” Her voice still had that phony, high-pitched quality. “There’s no one like you. No one, my love.”
“Marla, Marla, I can’t get enough of you.”
Well, I’d had enough of both of them. I rubbed my eyes again and shifted my leg in an attempt to get the cat to move. He did. Right next to my face. Soon I’d be a candidate for the Emergency Room.
I pushed my tote, then myself, out from under the bed, not an easy task with the cat positioned where he was.
I squeaked as the cat’s claw snagged my sweater, caught, penetrated, and scratched my shoulder. I went into a holding pattern until I was sure no one had heard. It gave me time to be thankful I had chosen to wear sneakers instead of leather-bottomed shoes or boots. True, they didn’t go with the outfit, but Mary Fran equals sneakers. Hadn’t I learned that years ago?
With great care, I inched toward the door on my belly, sweeping the floor with my cashmere sweater and good slacks. I wanted to go to the bathroom. No chance. I crossed my legs for a second, took a deep breath, then uncrossed them and slithered into the hall like a recruit in basic training crawling under barbed wire. The damn cat followed. Cats love me. Once, a long time ago before I found out I was allergic to cats, I loved them, too. Maybe they sensed that. It’s like I’m the Pied Piper of felines.
After I successfully passed the bedroom door, I stood, and tiptoed to the stairs.
I remembered to skip the creaky third step on the way down.
When I finally reached the car, I was a wreck. Gasping for breath, heart slamming like a jackhammer, I started the engine and took off like I was shot from a cannon. I almost clipped a pickup truck stopped at the end of the driveway, a newspaper guy delivering papers.
* * *
Title me Desperate Detective. I was lost. I recognized this little bridge ahead since I’d been over it three times already. I looked around. Woods, woods and more woods, and a little stream. Where was I? I wondered, wriggling in my seat, seriously in need of a bathroom, considering getting out and peeing by the side of the road. The way things were going today, I’d probably squat in a
Similar Books
