Dead Relatives (Poppy Lewis Mystery Book 4) by Lucinda Harrison

Author:Lucinda Harrison [Harrison, Lucinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lucinda Harrison
Published: 2022-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

Ten

The evening was cold and the crispness bit at you with every whip of the wind off the water. Angie and Harper walked with me along the sidewalk from the bakery, where we’d convened, to the non-denominational Fellowship of the Faith church just a few hundred yards down Main Street. Harper carried Mayor Dewey in her arms like a sack of potatoes.

“Oof,” Harper said with a grunt, “this guy’s getting heavy. No more treats, man.”

“You’re aware he can walk, right?”

Harper shot me a scandalized look. “It’s winter, Poppy. His little paws will freeze.”

“Maybe he’s so large because he never gets to walk himself anymore. You carry him around like a giant furry baby.”

“Are you all right, Poppy?” Angie’s voice held a note of concern. “You’re awfully snippy tonight.”

I caught myself before I could snip a reply. “Sorry,” I said finally. “Greta got home from the library after dark. I always get nervous when she’s out after dark, and my nerves are probably still on edge.”

“Why was she out so late?” Harper asked.

“Apparently, she thought she’d stop and forage for mushrooms. It was something about tomorrow’s breakfast, but I was too livid to care at that point. It was dark, and she was so filthy.” I gritted my teeth.

“Wild mushrooms? Yeesh, sounds like Greta’s the one trying to kill your guests.”

Angie shot Harper a stern look then laid a calming hand on my arm and my jaw relaxed. “She’s all right, though,” Angie said, guiding me along, “so let’s enjoy ourselves and find out about the church instead.”

Pastor Basil Meyers, bundled head-to-toe for the cold night, greeted people warmly at the church doors. Except for the tie-dyed scarf around his neck, Pastor Basil seemed like an ordinary minister, middle-aged and balding under his winter cap.

“Poppy, Angie,” he said bobbing his head with half-lidded eyes behind his round glasses. “Groovy, groovy. Welcome all.”

Harper passed the threshold with Dewey tucked under an arm.

Pastor Basil clasped his gloved hands together. “And the mayor with Harper Tillman—far out, man. I wish I had a crowd like this on Sundays.”

“Not likely,” Harper muttered. She leaned in close to Angie and me. “I’m only here because of him, you know.” She readjusted Mayor Dewey in her arms, clearly struggling with his girth. He gave an annoyed mew before Harper settled him in, perched half in her arms and half on one bony hip like a toddler.

“He can feel your displeasure,” I said with a wry grin. “Soon, your furry mayor baby will outgrow your arms and revolt.”

“He’s fine,” Harper quipped. “He just needs a nap.”

Angie nodded toward the far side of the church. “Looks like the Founders are all together.”

A crowd of townspeople from the Founders Club crowded around Jim Thornen, who appeared smug as ever, nodding and smiling and greeted each with the handshake of a slimy politician. Snippets of his smarmy voice carried to where we were standing. “As Vista Liaison, I have a dual interest...” faded into “...once a patriot, always a patriot,” before disappearing into the rest of the crowd noise altogether.

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