Maverick, Movies, & Murder by Mary Seifert

Author:Mary Seifert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuths, cozy mystery series, first in series mystery, titanic movie books, pets in mystery stories, murder mystery series books for adults, mystery series for women
Publisher: Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

We returned to Columbia early enough for my students to get into a bit of weekend mischief. They had transportation waiting in the parking lot, so after brief thank-yous and spirited goodbyes, they bolted. Jane called Drew, and excited to get home, she also tore out of the lot.

Daylight waned, and as I maneuvered my tired body into the driver’s seat of my car, I noticed another vehicle in the L-shaped parking lot, around the corner of the building and partially blocked from view. I could’ve sworn someone sat in the driver’s seat. I peered across the parking lot and thought I saw the door on the far side of the car open and a figure emerge, but the overhead light in the car didn’t blink on. I locked my doors and bobbled my keys to the floor; I reached down and searched for them, and when I popped back up, the vehicle had vanished.

I called Pete. I waited—one ring, two rings, three rings. He was never around when I needed him. “Strike three,” I lamented.

“Katie? Strike three?”

I hadn’t realized the phone had stopped ringing. “Sorry. Just babbling. Would you still like to have that pizza or something? I’m just leaving the school parking lot.”

I started the car and kept an eye out for movement, but my overstimulated imagination must have played a trick on me. I had to ask him to repeat what he’d said—twice.

“I thought we’d have it delivered to my place. What kind of pizza do you like?”

“I’ll eat anything but ghost peppers.” I threw my car into gear and I squealed out of the lot.

“No need to rush. I’m sure it’ll take Pizza Party at least thirty minutes. Why don’t you bring Maverick? We can take him for a walk.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks,” I spluttered.

Disappointed in myself, I hadn’t even asked if I could bring anything, but wine surely would be welcome. I grabbed Maverick and a bottle of Zinfandel.

Maverick thumped his tail and jumped into the rear seat, panting and wriggling, craving human interaction. He tried so hard to please.

I considered Pete’s directions and continued to peek at my rear-view mirror. I parked my car on the street outside his house, took one more look around, and carried the bottle of wine in one hand, Maverick’s leash in the other.

The bell chimed on the white two-story home. Rich gold chrysanthemums sat primly in the window boxes. Terra cotta pots filled with all kinds of flora festooned a manicured lawn. My nerves jangled as I rang the bell again.

“Coming,” I heard. The door opened, and there he stood—black t-shirt, black jeans, bare feet, and the widest smile I’d seen in a long time. “Come on in.”

“This is for you.” I handed him the bottle of wine.

“Thanks.” Pete read the label, nodded approvingly, and ushered me in. I glanced back to make sure I wasn’t followed. After letting Maverick sniff his hand, Pete scratched under his collar and won, again, Maverick’s undying affection. He unclipped the leash.

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