Death in Dahlonega (A Trixie Montgomery Cozy Mystery Book 1) by Deborah Malone

sandwiches. The crust on the croissant resembled homemade piecrust; it did a buttery dance across my taste buds. We managed to enjoy our food, despite being stressed.
    I started on my fresh fruit, savoring every bite, when the jingle of the doorbell drew my attention towards the door. “Oh, no!” I whispered.
    As soon as Miranda walked in, the chef barreled through the kitchen doors and hurried to her side. They conferred for a moment, and then he went back into the kitchen. She stood ramrod straight as she gazed around the room. Her face gave away nothing, that was, until she caught my eye. Her fiery eyes shot daggers.
    The chef returned, laden with several bags, and handed them to her. She turned on her heels and clicked out of the café without so much as a nod.
    “Good grief. If looks could kill, I believe we’d be dead.” Dee Dee turned around in her lattice chair from watching the scene. “Who was that?”
    “That my dear, is Miranda Tatum. John Tatum’s ex-wife.”
    “The infamous Miranda.” Several heads turned our way.
    “Shhh. Let’s finish our dessert and I’ll fill you in later.” We finished eating and headed for the bathroom—the place that got us into trouble in the first place. Dee Dee forever needed to go to the bathroom. I’d tried to get her to tell her doctor, like they suggest on the television commercial, but she didn’t see it as a problem. I’d bet now she’d visit him as soon as we got back home.
    We stepped back into the busy street and were immediately engulfed by a sea of people. I had to holler to get her attention. “Let’s go over to the Gold Museum and see if we can wheedle some information from Teresa.”
    “Why?”
    “Oh, I don’t know. Because I like to wheedle people?” I smiled to let her know I was only kidding.
    “Huh?” Her face was blank. Unusual for Dee Dee, she missed the joke. The investigation must have really gotten under her skin.
    “Well, if we’re going to find out who killed John Tatum, we’ll have to create a list of suspects.”
    Dee Dee stopped abruptly.
    “Whoa. I almost ran into you,” I laughed.
    “Well, with all my cushioning back there, it wouldn’t hurt you. Where did you get the crazy notion to snoop for suspects?” She stood firm, not moving an inch.
    “Do you have any better ideas? You said yourself that Sheriff Wheeler needed to close this case as soon as possible. Joyce said that there are a lot of people who had reason to want Tatum dead. We can find out who they are, tell the sheriff, and let him follow-up.”
    “Well, put that way it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for my sake.” Dee Dee adjusted her shoulder bag and we continued walking.
    We elbowed our way through the throng of people. Several of the festival booths seemed to call our names so we stopped to check out their colorful knick-knacks. We moved with the crowd until we reached the end of the street.
    We stood at the corner, admiring the fancy, horse-drawn carriage providing rides around the square. As it turned, it nearly ran over us. We jumped out of the way. I felt something squishy under my foot. Let me tell you, those horsey diapers don’t work as well as you’d think.
    I spied some grassy lawns around the museum. “Come on. Let’s go over there so I can clean my shoes.”
    Dee Dee belly laughed.
    It was good to hear, even if it was at my expense. “Thanks a heap, these are my new Rockports.”
    “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You should have seen the look on your face,” she managed to sputter.
    I grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the museum. By that time I was laughing, too. But as we got closer, my mirth slowly died from my lips.
    Teresa might not be an easy mark for my line of questioning, but for Dee Dee’s sake, we had to try.

Chapter Twelve
    Hello, ladies. What brings you back to the museum?” Teresa’s thin smile looked forced and unnatural when we walked in.
    “Can we talk to you for a