Moscato Masquerade: A Spell's Bay Mystery Book 2 (Spell's Bay Mysteries) by Elizabeth Rain

Author:Elizabeth Rain [Rain, Elizabeth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: cozy mystery, Paranormal
Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
Published: 2022-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

TEN~CLUELESS

It took me two days to track down Phil Devonshire, Thurstan’s business partner in Myers’ Construction. I’d been by his house twice and called the number Emma had supplied me with countless times. I would have left a message, but his mailbox was full. I wondered if it was filled with a bunch of people like me, trying to reach a man who never answered his phone. I refused to believe he was just ignoring me.

I finally decided that the one place he couldn’t run from me was at work, in his office at the construction site. The place was a hub of heavy machinery and milling workers, who all ignored me when I parked in the small, impromptu parking lot with all the employees and trudged across the construction yard, ankle deep in snow and mud from the heavy tires. I didn’t knock. Instead, I entered the tin building, giving a sigh of relief at the instant warmth that enveloped me as I closed the door, keeping the frigid air out.

The building design was simple and divided into two open sections. On my left was a darkened area with a large, fancy oak desk and a substantial and expensive office chair. The top of the desk was empty, and it looked as if no one had occupied that space for a minute. At a guess, it was Thurstan’s office. On my right, at the other end, was another desk. This was massive, too, but that was where the similarity ended. Scarred and ugly, every inch was covered with piles of papers, discarded pens and a stapler, fallen on its side where it looked like someone had flung it. In the hard back chair behind it sat Phil Devonshire. I was able to observe him unnoticed for several minutes before he noticed me—he was that involved in whatever he was doing, hunched over and tapping away one-fingered on his computer. He was a tall, thin man with sparse, graying hair on a somewhat pointy dome. Wire spectacles balanced precariously on the end of a slender hawkish nose.

And he looked tired, as if the world was pulling him down and he was done with fighting back. I cleared my throat and he jumped, his head whipping up in alarm. He blinked owlishly at me and finally sat back, lifting his fingers.

“Oh, hello. Can I help you?” he frowned up at me in confusion.

I stepped up to his desk and nodded at the folding chair in front of his desk that he’d hastily erected for visitors.

He colored slightly in embarrassment. “Oh, sorry. Please, take a seat. And you are?”

“Verity Blume.”

His expression remained perplexed.

I added, “I own Crooked Tree Farms.”

“The run-down vineyard and orchards?”

I winced. “Yeah, that’s it. I sometimes work with Honor Mason. We were heading the group that stumbled on the body of your partner, Thurstan Myers, at the lighthouse the night he...uh, died.”

His expression cleared. “Ah...okay. The Snowshoe Shuffle and Flight Weekend through Honor’s Vineyards? I did one of those once.

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