An Ice Cold Grave (Harper Connelly Mysteries, No. 3) by Charlaine Harris

Author:Charlaine Harris [Harris, Charlaine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9780425224243
Amazon: 0425224244
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2008-10-06T13:00:00+00:00

done wrong. After we left Doraville, the town would get back to its

business of mourning its dead and accommodating its media visitors. The

funeral directors would have an unexpected surge in profits. The hotels

and restaurants would, too. Sheriff Rockwell would be glad to see the last

of the state boys. They’d be glad to leave Doraville and return to

wherever they were based.

Manfred and his grandmother would go back to their home in Tennessee.

Sometime in the next few months, Xylda would die. Manfred would be

on his own, begin his own career of providing psychic insights to the

ignorant and the educated. Sometimes he’d be sincere, and sometimes he

wouldn’t. I thought about Tolliver’s surprising paranoia concerning

Manfred. I smiled to myself. It was true I found Manfred intriguing, if he

wasn’t exactly my inner pinup poster. His confidence that he could please

me, and his conviction that I was desirable…well, what woman doesn’t

enjoy that? That’s pretty potent. But as far as actually following through

on it…it was probably more fun to flirt with Manfred than actually carry

the attraction to the next level. Though I wasn’t much older than him in

years, in other ways I felt I was way too much his senior.

I really needed to get up to visit the bathroom. With a reluctant sigh, I

worked my way out of the covers and sat up. This low bed was not good

for such maneuvering, and it was hard keeping quiet, but I wanted to let

Tolliver sleep as long as he could. He’d had the harder row to hoe the day

before, having to take care of me.

Finally, I was on my feet and heading to the bathroom. That necessary

task done, I brushed my hair one-handed, with a very lopsided result, and

brushed my teeth a bit more efficiently. I felt better immediately. When I

opened the door as quietly as possible, I saw that Tolliver wasn’t moving,

so I padded over to the fireplace and eyed the remaining embers.

Carefully, I added more wood, trying to keep the arrangement tight but

with ventilation as Tolliver had done. To my gratification, the fire picked

right up. Hah!

“Good job,” said Tolliver, his voice heavy with sleep. I eased into one of

the two ancient wooden chairs he’d arranged in front of the fire. Its faded

cushion smelled of damp and some long-ago dog. Of course the family

would put their castoffs out here. No point buying special furniture for a

place where they came to relax, where they’d be coming in wet from

swimming. Also, the cabin was pretty vulnerable to theft, and who wants

to tempt thieves with something valuable? I told myself how grateful I

was to Twyla for letting us stay here, for free and away from the

reporters. But at the same time, I admitted to myself that I’d much rather

be in the motel, at least from a comfort standpoint.

Tolliver had his cell phone plugged in and charging, and now it rang.

“Crap,” he said, and I agreed with the sentiment. The last thing I wanted

to do was talk to anyone.

“Hello,” he said, and after that all I heard was, “I guess we can,” and

“Okay,” very noncommittal stuff.

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