Death Comes eCalling (Book 1, Molly Masters Mysteries) by Leslie O'Kane

Author:Leslie O'Kane [O'Kane, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: cozy traditional carpool murder mystery funny humor cartoons comedy mother highschool reunions subur
Publisher: O'Kane Ink
Published: 2014-11-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Woe Is Me

At five after eight Wednesday morning, my children were on the bus. The weather was, to use a colloquialism, blechy. The rain clouds looked like dark, lumpy sleeping bags. Apparently they intended to stay for a while. There was no breeze, no break in the gray or the relentless patter of rain on the roof.

All told, it was a perfect day to solve a murder. Indoors, that is.

AIl the pieces of my puzzle were spread out on the plush gray pile in the living room: my PTA secretary/treasurer’s file, the box of papers Mrs. Kravett’s sister had given me, my school yearbook, a legal pad, and a sharpened number two pencil. Wearing jeans and a CU sweatshirt, with a fuzzy purple-and-blue afghan around my shoulders and a cup of hot chocolate in hand, I sprawled out on the floor as well.

Atop my chocolate was a dollop of whipped cream. I’ve mastered the technique of sucking through my lips just the right amount of cool cream and steaming chocolate. I luxuriated in the experience as the warm blend slid down my throat, realizing this was as close to a sexual encounter as I was likely to experience anytime soon.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get the last thick dregs to dribble into my mouth. Since Karen and Nathan weren’t here to see me, I licked up the last few drops. So much for romanticizing a beverage.

I set the cup on the coffee table behind me and rubbed my hands together in eager anticipation as I surveyed my stack of clues. Start with the least explored: the box from Mrs. Kravett.

I reread her three-page letter to me detailing how she’d envisioned the criteria for the scholarship program. Then I read the will. Then came the pile of students’ “exemplary work” from the past three years, which, she’d explained in her letter, was when she first got the idea for someday having a scholarship in her husband’s name. This contained the schoolwork and personal histories of some forty-plus students. At first glance, there was nothing that could provide anyone with a motive for murder.

My interest perked up when I started to scan a report written by a student intern named Cherokee Taylor about Saunders and Bakerton Imports, the company owned by my classmates’ husbands. The report touched on what the company did, gave a brief biography of its co-owners, and mentioned that the two men met through their wives, who had been good friends since high school.

Upon a quick read, the paper was not as well written as the others. It was merely a typical high school composition: messy handwriting, poor spelling, weak sentence structure, no plot. I could just imagine Mrs. Kravett handing this back and saying, “This is supposed to be an essay, not a grocery list. Give me something that elicits an emotional reaction.”

Why had she even kept this? I set it aside for a more careful reading later, and pored through the remaining files.

This was getting me no place fast.

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