Lace and Lies: A Paranormal Cozy Mystery by Nancy Warren

Author:Nancy Warren [Warren, Nancy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Occult & Supernatural
ISBN: 9781928145592
Google: uYHixwEACAAJ
Amazon: B07RKD6R1J
Goodreads: 47822137
Publisher: Ambleside Publishing
Published: 2019-07-26T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I decided to ignore his barbarian suggestion and bent my attention, instead, to the list of knitting student bios. “I hate to think one of them did it.” I’d come to like this odd collection of knitters.

Rafe said, “You’ve now spent a full day of knitting with these people and the better part of a very stressful day, when they were all interviewed by police and treated like murder suspects. People reveal a lot about themselves when they are under stress. And you’re very observant. What did you notice?”

It was nice of him to say that I was observant, but I was also under stress. Sure, it was bad to be interviewed by the police about a murder, but it was a hair more stressful when you were the one who found the dead person. However, I knew he was right, and I tried to focus.

Since we were both looking at the paper, we naturally went in the order that the students were listed. Enid was the first one. Even looking at her picture, grainy as it was from my photocopier, I felt the awful sadness that her life had been cut off so abruptly. She’d had plans. She’d wanted to get married again. She was knitting lace for her daughter to wear at Oxford.

She hadn’t even enjoyed her last day on earth. She’d been so filled with irritation at Teddy that his knitting didn’t come up to her standards that I felt even worse for her.

“Enid Selfe. I only know what’s in this bio and what she told us during class. She lived in Stow-on-the-Wold. Her bio says she’s a homemaker. I know she was married three times and on the lookout for number four.” I thought of the way she’d been batting her eyes at Rafe and resting her well-manicured hand on the chest that held his cold heart. “You probably know more about her than I do.”

I could see him focusing on her photograph, almost as though trying to bring her face into focus. “I’ve met so many people in the course of my existence. I simply cannot keep track of them all. She reminded me that we’d met at an event for Friends of the Bodleian.”

While I understood that he had a point about the number of people he’d met in his long existence, it hadn’t been that long ago. “Enid Selfe was the one hitting on you at the book signing. You must’ve smelled her with your sensitive nose because she’d doused herself with perfume and freshened up her makeup before wandering over to talk to you.”

His nostrils quivered. “I do remember that smell. Why do women insist on drenching themselves with scent? Back in my day, there was logic behind the practice. We used perfumes to cover up the smells of the sewers and the odor of unwashed humanity. But today, people shower every five minutes. The last thing they need is to add artificial scent.”

“I never wear perfume.”

He looked at me in a rather disturbing way that made me wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

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