Murder at North Pond by London Lovett

Author:London Lovett [Lovett, London]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Wild Fox Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

A hot shower and change of clothes erased the chills I'd developed on my walk home. Cora had taken the cheese enchiladas out of the freezer, but it seemed she'd left the hard part, turning on the oven and placing the tray into that same heated oven, to me. She'd texted halfway through my walk back that she was exhausted from pirates and murder and all that and needed to take a nap before dinner. That was my clue that dinner wasn't going to be close to ready on time.

I hurried down the hallway to get things going in the kitchen. I could hear Cary Grant's distinctive voice coming through Opal's door as I walked past. At the other end of the hallway, Nathaniel's door was shut, but light was seeping out from the bottom. I wondered if my intrusion into his personal belongings would push him to leave the house. I wasn't sure how I felt on that prospect. As much as it would erase some of the uneasiness in the house, it also meant that I'd have to start the search all over again. I wasn't guaranteed the next person would fit well either. We were a unique lot, a square hole and it seemed the world was filled with round pegs. Although, I wasn't sure I'd call Nathaniel a round peg. He was more that odd star shaped peg that only fit into the hole one way.

I stopped by the small alcove on the bottom floor where I kept a computer and printer for everyone's use. I downloaded the photos of Arvin's body, along with the schedules and lists from Jessup's desk. I'd exited the costume tent, Jessup's tent, without even a hint that he was the killer, but by the time I left the grounds, I'd added Jessup back to the list. Sometimes withholding information was more damming than laying it all out in the open. If he'd admitted to me right away that he'd been caught up in Arvin's sketchy investment scheme, I probably wouldn't have thought any more about him as a suspect. But since he left it out of our conversation entirely, even after I asked how well he knew Arvin, that seemed like a red flag.

I plucked the photos off the printer and walked to the broom closet. I leaned in and pulled out the two corkboards. The red and blue pushpins sat just where I'd left them waiting to hold important information and photos about the Meeks case. "I can't believe there's been another murder," I said to no one, but the corkboards seemed to agree. I pulled the boards out whenever I had a new case, and it seemed I was doing it more often than not.

I carried my supplies to the kitchen and hung the corkboards from the hooks on the one clear wall in the kitchen. At one time they held some whimsical rooster photos and a small chalkboard where we'd leave messages for each other like 'will be late for dinner' and 'we're out of milk'.

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