Caffeinated Murder by Lynne Waite Chapman

Author:Lynne Waite Chapman [Chapman, Lynne Waite]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Take Me Away Books, an imprint of Winged Publications
Published: 2020-04-20T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

A nita and I can usually comment on everything. But the moment our eyes met we were both stunned into silence. Anita’s head tipped to the side, reminding me of Mason when eyeing a fly trapped behind a window screen.

I waited for a comment from Clair, but she silently gazed after Ava, seemingly equally fascinated.

Someone had to break the trance. Hefting my handbag to my shoulder, I collected my notebook. “We can’t keep standing here. Get your things. Let’s continue our conversation outside.” The three of us shoved our chairs under the table and shuffled to the door, where I took a last longing glance at the shop keeper.

“Wait. Look.”

Clair and Anita skidded to a halt at the open door and stared at me. Trying not to attract attention, I motioned with my eyes, and whispered. “Look beside the cash register.”

Anita followed my instructions and slapped herself on the chest. “There’s the earring. It wasn’t Ava’s after all. She set it out for someone to claim.” She grabbed Clair’s arm. “Such a relief. I knew Ava had nothing to do with the man’s death.”

Clair finally turned her eyes to the coffee counter. “Hmm. You’re right. It appears the earring belongs to someone else. And I’m glad of that, but it doesn’t automatically exonerate Ava.”

Anita used her grip on Clair’s arm to guide her outside. “Clair Lane, I don’t know how you can even consider it.”

Clair shrugged. “I agree Ava doesn’t seem like the type to kill anyone. I said that to keep us objective.” After a glance at her watch, she continued. “Got to get back to work. Appointments this afternoon. Talk to you ladies, later.” She darted across the street, defying oncoming traffic.

Belatedly, I shouted. “Be careful, you’ll get hit.” But Clair had reached the sidewalk and walked on without response.

Anita pulled her keys from her purse. “What’s with her?”

“Probably stress. It’s getting to all of us. Detective work is no fun if you suspect a friend of murder.” Traffic cleared and we proceeded to the parking lot. “I’ll drive over to the motel and ask questions. Hopefully someone saw something.”

Anita tailed me to my Chrysler and I twisted toward her. “Isn’t that your car on the other side, by the Toyota?”

Replacing her keys in her handbag, she nodded. “A thought just hit me. The two of us work better as a team. I’ll go with you. While you question the manager, I’ll canvas the property for possible witnesses.” She was right. Anita had a gift for getting people to talk. I didn’t.

My gregarious friend sat in the passenger seat with pen poised over her notebook. “What questions do you think I should ask?”

“You’re assuming there will be someone to question.”

“Don’t be discouraging. Think positively. I’m counting on being in the right place to meet the right person.”

“Huh.” I guessed that was as good a plan as any.

When we arrived, Frank was perched in front of the TV. I guess televisions are a necessity to relieve boredom in small town motels.

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