Dead and Buried: A Paranormal Cozy Murder Mystery by Patti Larsen

Author:Patti Larsen [Larsen, Patti]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Cozy, Cats & Dogs, Amateur Sleuth, Private Investigators, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9781989925225
Google: XeAuEAAAQBAJ
Publisher: Patti Larsen Books
Published: 2021-05-15T22:00:00+00:00

***

Chapter Seventeen

Sam was still on the property when I arrived home, though he appeared to be cleaning up for the day. There was no sign of Miles, his assistant gone already, the handyman securely shirted enough I chose to act on impulse, stepping out onto the deck he’d already completed (in exemplary fashion) and waved for him to join me.

He did, without hesitation, though the frown on his face had me wondering until he spoke. “I heard about the murder,” he said, that masculine and yet compassionate concern of his doing a number on me I was sure he had no idea about. “Are you all right?” Sam chuckled then, reaching out to scratch Benjamin’s head as the dog left me and went to his side. “Of course you are, you’re right here.”

“Not my first dead body,” I said, though I kept any cynicism out of the statement, to which he nodded.

“Mine either,” he said. Now, why did that prompt a whole slew of questions, because despite the fact he’d been present with me during one such find of a corpse not so long ago, he made it sound like even that was far from his initiation into death and the dead. Whatever historical moment passed through his mind, it drew clouds over his normally steadfast and confident face, enough all thoughts of stepping back from him vanished.

“Can I pour you a drink?” I asked without emotion, a simple question, hoping to keep my attraction out of it. He seemed surprised by the offer for some reason—had I truly failed to express my interest or was it something else that made his eyes widen that way?—before he shed his work belt, setting it on the bottom step before he climbed the stairs and joined me, Benjamin happily following.

A few minutes later, we sat across from one another at the bench seat he’d built for me as part of the new deck, the carefully constructed table built into the floor, not a hint of a splinter on the polished wood he’d so expertly sanded and fitted together, rubbed down with oil instead of varnish since, according to Sam, it would age better.

And yes, as he’d told me that while doing said rubbing I’d wondered what it would be like if he applied that skill to something a little more intimate before I had to walk away that day.

This time was different, felt less tense with heightened energy and more so a relaxed and comfortable experience, Sam settling with the cold beer I’d supplied—magic had amazing uses—leaving a wet ring on the tabletop as he lifted it to take a long drink.

“I’ve never had this brand,” he checked the side of the bottle while I mentally kicked myself.

“A friend of mine,” I said. Paused, let the misstep go. Sam would never guess the beverage was sourced from my kind and not his, Dwarf Deep Brewery label or not. “It was his favorite.” He looked like he wanted to ask but was too polite so rather than ignore that particular ogre in the room, I went on.

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