suspects are?”
“Because if we don’t have suspects we won’t be able to figure out who killed Keith Weaver.”
Tara turned to look at me. “And why on earth would you think it was up to us to figure out who killed Keith Weaver?”
I turned the key and prayed my old clunker of a car would start. “We found his body,” I pointed out. “That’s like a sign from the universe that we’re supposed to be involved.”
Tara rolled down her window. “I have to say your logic is . . . well, illogical.”
“No it’s not,” I argued. “It’s like that thing where if you save someone’s life you’re responsible for them. Likewise, if you find a dead body you’re responsible for finding out how the person died.”
“You’re insane. You know that, right?”
“Come on, Tara. What do we have to lose by snooping around a bit?”
“Our lives, for a start. Besides, Finn won’t want us to get involved. He’s perfectly capable of figuring this out without our help.”
“He doesn’t have to know we’re snooping,” I argued.
Tara let out a long breath. “I know you’re a huge mystery buff and the chance to investigate a local murder must be tempting, but I want to point out that, unlike most of the heroines in the books you read, we’re neither strong nor brave. We don’t have superpowers and neither of us is an extraordinary physical specimen. I shop in the plus size department and you shop in the children’s department. Trust me when I say that I really don’t think the universe is depending on us to save the day.”
I put my car into gear and pulled out into traffic. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Come on, cheer up,” Tara tried. “I’ll take you to breakfast.”
“Actually, I told Mr. Parsons and Mrs. Trexler I’d stop by this morning to drop off the enchiladas we made last night.”
“That’s probably just as well. I really want to finish up the new proposal for Mr. Bradford. I’m hoping if we can get it approved we can begin the remodel as soon as the building is released by the crime scene unit. I’ll call you later.”
Chapter 7
After I dropped Tara at her house I went back to my cabin and took another shower. Luckily, it appeared that both Max and Romeo had behaved themselves while I was gone, so maybe my string of bad luck was at an end. I pulled my unruly hair into a knot, slipped into my most comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed into the kitchen to pack up my offering for my reclusive friends.
Mr. Parsons’s property was to the left of my aunt’s. He lived alone in the house, as he had ever since I was old enough to remember. I’m not sure why he never married or had children, but most of the time he seemed content to hang out alone in the huge old house his grandfather had built. I brought him food a couple of times a week and he’d listen politely as I rambled on about whatever it was that was happening in my life.
Although Mr. Parsons had no pets, he seemed to like Max, so I made a point of bringing him along on most of my visits.
“Mr. Parsons, it’s Cait and Max,” I called after I’d both buzzed the intercom and knocked on the door.
“You can come in,” Mr. Parsons answered. “I’m in the study.”
I could hear the lock give as he remotely opened the front door. The house Mr. Parsons lived in was large and drafty. I have no idea why his grandfather had built such a monstrosity. As far as I knew, the man had only had two children, but the cavernous house must have at least ten bedrooms.
Mr. Parsons lived on the bottom floor, and I was fairly certain he rarely ventured to the second or third story of the house. The bottom level featured a large living room that, based on the dust layered on the furniture, was rarely used; a study that was really a warm and cozy library; a ballroom that had never hosted a ball in my lifetime; a kitchen, several bathrooms, and a single bedroom behind the kitchen that had most likely been designed
“Because if we don’t have suspects we won’t be able to figure out who killed Keith Weaver.”
Tara turned to look at me. “And why on earth would you think it was up to us to figure out who killed Keith Weaver?”
I turned the key and prayed my old clunker of a car would start. “We found his body,” I pointed out. “That’s like a sign from the universe that we’re supposed to be involved.”
Tara rolled down her window. “I have to say your logic is . . . well, illogical.”
“No it’s not,” I argued. “It’s like that thing where if you save someone’s life you’re responsible for them. Likewise, if you find a dead body you’re responsible for finding out how the person died.”
“You’re insane. You know that, right?”
“Come on, Tara. What do we have to lose by snooping around a bit?”
“Our lives, for a start. Besides, Finn won’t want us to get involved. He’s perfectly capable of figuring this out without our help.”
“He doesn’t have to know we’re snooping,” I argued.
Tara let out a long breath. “I know you’re a huge mystery buff and the chance to investigate a local murder must be tempting, but I want to point out that, unlike most of the heroines in the books you read, we’re neither strong nor brave. We don’t have superpowers and neither of us is an extraordinary physical specimen. I shop in the plus size department and you shop in the children’s department. Trust me when I say that I really don’t think the universe is depending on us to save the day.”
I put my car into gear and pulled out into traffic. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Come on, cheer up,” Tara tried. “I’ll take you to breakfast.”
“Actually, I told Mr. Parsons and Mrs. Trexler I’d stop by this morning to drop off the enchiladas we made last night.”
“That’s probably just as well. I really want to finish up the new proposal for Mr. Bradford. I’m hoping if we can get it approved we can begin the remodel as soon as the building is released by the crime scene unit. I’ll call you later.”
Chapter 7
After I dropped Tara at her house I went back to my cabin and took another shower. Luckily, it appeared that both Max and Romeo had behaved themselves while I was gone, so maybe my string of bad luck was at an end. I pulled my unruly hair into a knot, slipped into my most comfortable pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed into the kitchen to pack up my offering for my reclusive friends.
Mr. Parsons’s property was to the left of my aunt’s. He lived alone in the house, as he had ever since I was old enough to remember. I’m not sure why he never married or had children, but most of the time he seemed content to hang out alone in the huge old house his grandfather had built. I brought him food a couple of times a week and he’d listen politely as I rambled on about whatever it was that was happening in my life.
Although Mr. Parsons had no pets, he seemed to like Max, so I made a point of bringing him along on most of my visits.
“Mr. Parsons, it’s Cait and Max,” I called after I’d both buzzed the intercom and knocked on the door.
“You can come in,” Mr. Parsons answered. “I’m in the study.”
I could hear the lock give as he remotely opened the front door. The house Mr. Parsons lived in was large and drafty. I have no idea why his grandfather had built such a monstrosity. As far as I knew, the man had only had two children, but the cavernous house must have at least ten bedrooms.
Mr. Parsons lived on the bottom floor, and I was fairly certain he rarely ventured to the second or third story of the house. The bottom level featured a large living room that, based on the dust layered on the furniture, was rarely used; a study that was really a warm and cozy library; a ballroom that had never hosted a ball in my lifetime; a kitchen, several bathrooms, and a single bedroom behind the kitchen that had most likely been designed
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