Guidebook to Murder by Lynn Cahoon Page B

was saying. She comes in to do the mayor’s reading every week. I’ve never heard her talk to anyone like that before. She gives me the creeps.” Amy contemplated a file on her desk. “I wonder what she meant about your pain not being over.”
    â€œShe’s a fortune-teller, she has to say something.”
    â€œShe knew about Miss Emily.”
    â€œShe works for the police department. We talked about Miss Emily’s death. Besides, anyone sitting outside the mayor’s office listening to me would know that.” I pushed the encounter with Esmeralda aside. I had bigger worries. Would the mayor really have me investigated in Miss Emily’s death if I refused to sell the house? And worse, would Greg go along with the plan?
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    With my favorite dinner sitting in front of me—seafood fettuccini, a basket of garlic bread, and a half-consumed bottle of wine—I should have been in food heaven. But I still heard the Gypsy’s words ringing in my ears. Your pain is not over. What the heck was that supposed to mean? Coming out of my fog, I realized Aunt Jackie had asked me a question.
    â€œWhat?” I didn’t care if I sounded like a spoiled five-year-old, I felt beat.
    My aunt had shown up at five on the dot, and we’d headed directly to Lille’s. While I’d been lost in thought and a few glasses of wine, she’d finished her dinner, a medium-rare steak and loaded baked potato. “I didn’t think you were listening to me. That’s all right, you must be tired. We’ll talk about the shop tomorrow.”
    I pushed around the pasta on my plate. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired.” Curling up under a big comforter sounded like heaven right now.
    She nodded toward my barely touched dinner. “Why don’t you get that to go, and I’ll drop you off at your new house? You shouldn’t drive.”
    Great, two nights in a row I was too sloshed to drive. South Cove was too small a town to start falling apart. Next thing I knew, Amy would be scheduling an intervention.
    All I had to do was get through this week. And figure out what I was going to do with Miss Emily’s house and money. My house and money, I corrected myself. This felt too weird. I’d thought I’d had problems before. Through my alcohol-induced haze, I knew one thing—I wouldn’t sell the house to the mayor’s developer friend. No matter what price he offered.
    I watched Aunt Jackie pay the check and smiled at the hostess, trying to downplay my obviously drunken state. I followed my aunt out to her Escape and waited for her to unlock the doors. Arguing with Aunt Jackie was just a waste of time. She pulled the car out from the curb and onto the main road.
    â€œYou can come back for your Jeep tomorrow.” She stared at the road ahead, not turning to look at me. “You did lock your doors, right?”
    â€œOnly tourists lock their doors in South Cove.” The words had just left my mouth when lights appeared in our lane, headed right for us. “Look out!”
    Shutting my eyes, I prepared for the crash. The Gypsy’s premonition coming true.
    No—I don’t want to lose my aunt.
    I felt the car jerk to the right and waited for the crash. And waited. And waited some more. I opened my eyes. Aunt Jackie watched me, a slight smile on her face.
    â€œJust some kids, hon. You need some sleep.”
    I closed my eyes, leaning back into the leather bucket seat. I was jumping at shadows. “The house is at the end of town, just as you come in on Main Street. You passed it on the way in.”
    â€œThe one that looks like it’s falling in on itself?” Jackie could barely hold back the horror from her voice.
    â€œYep, that’s it. My new home, stuffed to the brim with old newspapers and other clutter I need to kick to the curb.” As soon as I mowed the lawn so I could find the curb.
    â€œAre you