Grave Stones by Calinda B

Author:Calinda B [B, Calinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sumner McKenzie, Inc.
Published: 2018-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Lassi followed Penny down the village street, heading for her great-aunt’s cottage, with her head in the clouds—which wasn’t hard since the bloody puffs of condensation seemed to smother the village. Like, all the fecking time. She turned behind her, wondering if she should chase after Inspector Conway and get all in-his-face dramatic, demanding, “What do you mean mid-rampage?” How does he know it’s mid anything? Does he know more than he’s letting on? She shook the sludge from her brain. You’re tired. Don’t go getting all paranoid. Rubbing her eyes with her thumb and forefinger helped ease some of the strain.

Passing the church, her thoughts drifted toward Cillian. Where is he now? What is he doing? Erotically charged sensations swirled through her body. Is he down in the rectory? Is he covering his tracks? Is he...?

“Girl, are you listening to me?”

Lassi blinked.

Penny had stopped and stood with her hands on her generous hips.

“I’m sorry, what?” Lassi blinked a few times.

“I was asking how you liked it here in Ballyna-wonderful, our charming village.” A pleasant smile crossed her lips.

Lassi blinked some more. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her smile. She’s almost...pretty. She returned the smile. “I’ll let you know once some tea has crossed my lips. I haven’t been getting my cuppa in the morning.”

Penny nodded and they continued toward the cottage.

As they strode down the hill, with Penny nattering on about how “Mrs. McGowan’s sheep were refusing the ram like they’d taken to feminism or what not,” and “Mr. O’Leary’s pigs would make tasty sausage this year, what with the feed he’s been giving them,” Lassi’s mind fuzzed over with nostalgic leanings. It might not be so bad living in a place where everyone knew everybody’s business. She pictured herself living in great-aunt Roberta’s cottage, serving the local community’s labor and delivery needs. Maybe popping off to Dublin a couple of days a week to work the big city. Living down the hill from Cillian.

Waves of desire shook her from head to toe. She kicked a rock, sending it flying. Right. Me and the murderer. I could visit him in jail after finding more dead cats and God knows what underneath the piles and piles of crap in the cottage.

When they got Great-Aunt Roberta’s, Lassi threw open the door.

Mr. Meow came flying from some hiding place on the porch, shooting past her legs through the door.

“Gah!” Lassi exclaimed.

“Oh, there’s Crusty McKitty,” Penny said. “He was always Roberta’s favorite.” She reached down to scratch his furry head. “He likes the cheese, this one does.”

He lets her scratch his head, he lets Cillian hypnotize him to sleep...but he hisses at me. Perfect.

“Oh, he’ll eat most anything,” Lassi grumbled.

Penny wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?” She stamped her feet on the Not-Welcome mat.

“What smell?” Lassi asked, hanging her coat on the hook.

“It smells like you got the iron too hot on the sheets and burnt them. Horrible smell.” She waved her hand in front of her nose.

Lassi cringed, picturing her scorched outline on the sheets.

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