Dying to be Found: A Photine Fortier Mystery Book 3 by Kenna Campbell

Author:Kenna Campbell [Campbell, Kenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2024-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

13

Hope is a Four-Letter Word

The BMW skidded into the parking spot in front of the Tanglewood front office. Bags of leaves were piled high in the corner as a man in green pants and shirt stacked the bags one by one on a trailer. One caught the edge of the trailer and split open, and leaves poured out on the back of the trailer and onto the ground. He calmly grabbed another bag and with a shovel began to dump them into the new bag. His calmness under the situation was very zen. I think I would have thrown a temper tantrum.

I summoned all the calm I was capable of at the moment. To be honest, I tried channeling the energy of the man bagging leaves. I needed this to be believable. Yes, we had lied about my dad looking for a plot. This new scenario would be crafting a convincing story so I could elicit the response I was hoping for. My dad should have been the one here, using his Fortier charm, but I was afraid he wouldn’t feel comfortable with this level of deception. Someone might call it entrapment, but I wasn’t the police. And hopefully, our friendly detective wasn’t lurking around; surely, he had better things to do like find the murderer. However, I hoped I’d find the murderer first just to show that Darryl R. Evans up.

Miss Butterfield stepped out before I even needed to go into the office.

I waved her down and wondered where the desk woman was. That was what I was left with, calling her “the desk woman.” Because she was a woman, and she had a desk, and that was all I remembered about her.

“Hello.” Miss Butterfield made her way to me looking around, searching for my dad. It was obvious.

“Hi there. No dad with me today. He is down and out with a bad case of food poisoning.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Oh, so sorry to hear that.” Her face dropped.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a picture of the map when you brought it out, and we have found a plot that my dad is positive is the one for him. We had his psychic perform that thing where you swing a thingamajig over a map, and my dad is certain this should be his last resting place.”

She grimaced. I guessed at the mention of me taking a picture of the map.

“Well, okay. Show me the one you are talking about.” She turned to head back to her office.

“Can I walk you down there and show you?” I needed her in the best environment to be able to talk to me candidly and not worry about someone overhearing our conversation.

“Okay,” she said.

Miss Butterfield got to the bottom of the hill in heels without being out of breath.

“Right here. Picture it. This tree shading him in the middle of the day.” I held my hands up like a photographer would, trying to capture the perfect photo. “His psychic says this is the spot.

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