Vintage Whispers (A Cozy Retirement Mystery Book 1) by Riley Blake Page B
Authors: Riley Blake
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prize. “This is proof and I’m showing it to Sheriff Littleton.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mary Louise snapped, accepting the small flashlight Opal offered. It doubled as a bottle opener which probably explained why their emergency stash was low. They’d handed them out freely after restoring an old soda pop machine.
After killing the kitchen lights, Opal aimed a yellow beam at Pearl. “So now your new bingo buddy is a tree-killing, ax-swinging, dirt-pushing, wife-burying bad guy?”
“Yes.” She looked saddened by the description. “I think so.”
Opal slapped her hand against her leg. “Oh for crying out loud!”
“I wish you’d hurry up and do it! That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it.” Pearl narrowed her eyes on Opal. “Let me go find a box of tissues.”
Opal blew out a frustrated breath and walked away. Mary Louise thumbed through the paperwork until she ran across another purchase from Kelly Leonardo and her blood ran cold. “Opal, you’ll want to see this.”
She peered over her shoulder. “What’s it say? I don’t have my reading glasses.”
“She bought the old laundry tub, decorative cinderblocks—apparently everyone purchased at least one of those while we had them—an authentic washboard, an old turn-of-the-century pitchfork like the one that’s hanging over the farm and garden section now, and an ancient garden set.”
“The cinderblocks don’t concern me. I mean, we could overreact and talk to Sheriff Littleton and see if they want to drag the river but seeing as we sold those blocks to pretty much every young mom in town, that’s probably a dead end. Guess the daycare passed out a letter so everyone would know where to purchase them. We sold out within the first two hours.”
Mary Louise shuffled through the day’s business and quickly verified that nearly all the morning customers had purchased one or two cinderblocks in support of the local daycare’s craft project. Three and four-year old kids had painted them. Some had one or two dots. Others sported signs of true paint-dumps or a splash of color here or there. Basically, the customers either bought the cinderblocks because they needed them for something else anyway or they simply wanted to donate ten dollars for a good cause.
“So what do you make of it?” Pearl crossed her thin arms. “Think all these people had something to do with Oscar’s death and they were helping her weight him down or—”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the ‘or’ this time, Pearl. Now let’s go, girls. We’ve had a long day and I want to get this behind us so we’ll know if we have anything to worry about or not.”
“I agree. Enough chatter about who did what. Let’s see if we can find anything else that would suggest Oscar’s wife was here for a more sinister reason.”
“We already have the proof,” Pearl said, trailing her.
“At best it might be called circumstantial evidence. And at worst, Sheriff Littleton might decide you belong in a psych ward for carelessly traumatizing a poor widow who now has to support her children on an artist’s salary.”
“If Oscar was as successful as everyone thinks, he was probably worth more alive than dead.”
“True.”
“And I’m not the one who needs a mental evaluation,” Pearl said, still stuck on the earlier mention. “I’m not threatening to cry out loud whenever I don’t get my way!”
Mary Louise took a calming breath. “Why me, Lord?”
“I’m just gonna say it.” Opal shook her finger at Mary Louise. “Because she was hanging upside down on the monkey bars—which is probably the problem here if you want to know the truth—and her chewing gum landed in your hair some sixty plus years ago. She spent the rest of fourth grade profusely apologizing. And you, being you, took pity on her and befriended her!” Opal’s voice hit the high notes with each passing syllable. “So don’t ask the Lord why. It’s not his fault. It’s
“You’ll do no such thing,” Mary Louise snapped, accepting the small flashlight Opal offered. It doubled as a bottle opener which probably explained why their emergency stash was low. They’d handed them out freely after restoring an old soda pop machine.
After killing the kitchen lights, Opal aimed a yellow beam at Pearl. “So now your new bingo buddy is a tree-killing, ax-swinging, dirt-pushing, wife-burying bad guy?”
“Yes.” She looked saddened by the description. “I think so.”
Opal slapped her hand against her leg. “Oh for crying out loud!”
“I wish you’d hurry up and do it! That’s the second time you’ve mentioned it.” Pearl narrowed her eyes on Opal. “Let me go find a box of tissues.”
Opal blew out a frustrated breath and walked away. Mary Louise thumbed through the paperwork until she ran across another purchase from Kelly Leonardo and her blood ran cold. “Opal, you’ll want to see this.”
She peered over her shoulder. “What’s it say? I don’t have my reading glasses.”
“She bought the old laundry tub, decorative cinderblocks—apparently everyone purchased at least one of those while we had them—an authentic washboard, an old turn-of-the-century pitchfork like the one that’s hanging over the farm and garden section now, and an ancient garden set.”
“The cinderblocks don’t concern me. I mean, we could overreact and talk to Sheriff Littleton and see if they want to drag the river but seeing as we sold those blocks to pretty much every young mom in town, that’s probably a dead end. Guess the daycare passed out a letter so everyone would know where to purchase them. We sold out within the first two hours.”
Mary Louise shuffled through the day’s business and quickly verified that nearly all the morning customers had purchased one or two cinderblocks in support of the local daycare’s craft project. Three and four-year old kids had painted them. Some had one or two dots. Others sported signs of true paint-dumps or a splash of color here or there. Basically, the customers either bought the cinderblocks because they needed them for something else anyway or they simply wanted to donate ten dollars for a good cause.
“So what do you make of it?” Pearl crossed her thin arms. “Think all these people had something to do with Oscar’s death and they were helping her weight him down or—”
“I’m pretty sure it’s the ‘or’ this time, Pearl. Now let’s go, girls. We’ve had a long day and I want to get this behind us so we’ll know if we have anything to worry about or not.”
“I agree. Enough chatter about who did what. Let’s see if we can find anything else that would suggest Oscar’s wife was here for a more sinister reason.”
“We already have the proof,” Pearl said, trailing her.
“At best it might be called circumstantial evidence. And at worst, Sheriff Littleton might decide you belong in a psych ward for carelessly traumatizing a poor widow who now has to support her children on an artist’s salary.”
“If Oscar was as successful as everyone thinks, he was probably worth more alive than dead.”
“True.”
“And I’m not the one who needs a mental evaluation,” Pearl said, still stuck on the earlier mention. “I’m not threatening to cry out loud whenever I don’t get my way!”
Mary Louise took a calming breath. “Why me, Lord?”
“I’m just gonna say it.” Opal shook her finger at Mary Louise. “Because she was hanging upside down on the monkey bars—which is probably the problem here if you want to know the truth—and her chewing gum landed in your hair some sixty plus years ago. She spent the rest of fourth grade profusely apologizing. And you, being you, took pity on her and befriended her!” Opal’s voice hit the high notes with each passing syllable. “So don’t ask the Lord why. It’s not his fault. It’s
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