Miz Scarlet and the Imposing Imposter by Sara M. Barton

Author:Sara M. Barton [Barton, Sara M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery
Goodreads: 17998440
Publisher: Createspace
Published: 2013-04-30T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen --

“Boy, you are a piece of work,” she snapped. “Let’s start with some information on you.”

“Fine.” I folded my arms and waited. The detective was in no rush. Larry took out her notepad and a hot pink gel pen while I flopped down on one of the twin beds, now remade. She sat on the edge of the other. “Give me the details. Full name, age....”

“Weight, hobbies....”

“Are you always such a smart ass?”

“Pretty much.”

“I suppose you need to have the last word.”

“I do.”

“Let me guess. You’re a lawyer.”

“Nope. Teacher.”

“That explains a lot.”

“You think so? Nice pen, by the way,” I told her with my own little smirk. The vivid color suggested that under that gruff exterior, she was still a girl at heart. Probably would have dotted her i’s with little circles if she could get away with it. Larry looked down at the instrument she clenched in her fingers and back up at me.

“This? Why? Because it’s pink? It’s the only way I can keep my colleagues from stealing them out of my pen cup. The bastards are always trying to filch my office supplies, so I have to embarrass the crap out of them. Too cheap to buy their own.”

“Are they? That must frost your butt,” I suggested.

“Man, you do not give up, do you? Are you this obnoxious with your students?”

“I teach at the high school level.” As soon as I said that, her hand shot up and she cut me off.

“Say no more. My kid is thirteen. All mouth and attitude. Some days, I’m tempted to send her to military school. Or to live with her father, my ex. I’d do it, too, but then I’d be stuck with the kid on weekends, and frankly I prefer some time off for dating.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I grinned. “Nothing will put a crimp in your love life like a hormone-fueled teenager.”

We did a sweep of all the guest rooms on the upper floor, along with Laurel and Lacey’s suites, before we headed downstairs. I could see the head of the state police homicide unit opening doors methodically. He found the one to the basement and disappeared down the steps.

“What room is this?” Larry asked me as I unlocked the door to Kenny’s temporary accommodation on our hunt for the missing Lonnie.

“Our formal library. Why Larry?”

“Because I wanted to know.”

“No, why are you called Larry? Were you named after your dad?”

“Great-grandfather. You always so curious, Scarlet Wilson?”

“You haven’t heard yet about the family monikers. We’re all named after oak trees.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Wish I was. Even the pets. This is Huckleberry,” I said, as the Yorkie followed us. And the lazy lump who just jumped up on the sofa over there is affectionately known as Scrubby, in honor of the scrub oak. My brother is Bur. You’ll probably want to talk to him at some point. He lives in the carriage house at the back of the inn. Emory’s down in Florida and Palmer’s in Oklahoma. My grandfather called us the four acorns.

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