Murder at the Festival (A Word Travels Mobile Bookshop Cozy Mystery Book 7) by Penny Brooke

Author:Penny Brooke [Brooke, Penny]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-08T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

“What will you do if Detective Sterling can’t find anything useful?” Aunt Daisy Mae asked.

She was sitting on her lounge chair, busy with her crochet project, while I checked the book van’s inventory. The perks of owning a book van included working wherever I felt like it.

“I’ll do what I always do and look for clues,” I said. “It’s useful having a contact on the force, but that doesn’t mean that I can rely on him.”

“Fair enough,” Aunt Daisy Mae said, “but it would make things easier if he could come through for us.”

I hummed in agreement. Jasper was busy playing with a piece of yarn that he refused to give up. It was about a foot long and had been discarded after I practiced crocheting techniques on it. While I firmly believed that anyone could be good at a skill given enough practice, I doubted that I’d ever be good at crocheting. It was too easy to mess up the delicate work, and I only got frustrated whenever I tried it. Of course, Aunt Daisy Mae was a natural which didn’t help things when I kept knotting the yarn around the hook.

“At least Jasper’s enjoying himself,” I grumbled under my breath.

Jasper carried the yarn wherever he went. Even when he wasn’t playing with it, he liked to make sure that it was always around.

The fairgrounds were quiet as most of the other van owners were keeping themselves busy while they waited for the police to find the killer. Waiting around for something to happen was never my strong suit, and it was how I had started investigating murders in the first place.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, putting my laptop away.

“That was a lot more detail than I needed,” Aunt Daisy Mae said, shaking her head at me.

“There’s a killer on the loose,” I reminded her. “We should probably let each other know where we’re going at all times. You know, just in case.”

“I don’t like what we’ve become,” Aunt Daisy Mae said with a grimace.

I rolled my eyes at her playfully before heading to the bathroom. Our van was too small for its own bathroom, and I preferred not to have a septic tank onboard, so we mostly relied on public bathrooms. It wasn’t ideal, but at least we had our own shower.

The fairgrounds had a set of private bathrooms that people could pay to use. It was located in a separate building, and the amenities weren’t luxurious, but they were clean and functional. It was a neat idea, and many camping spots had them.

As I headed to the building, I heard a group of people talking. There was a picnic area nearby, and I spotted a few of the other van owners. Some were familiar, while others were new to me.

“Do you think the police are ever going to get around to catching the killer?” a man complained loudly. “This is getting ridiculous.”

I ducked behind the building. It would be too hard to join the

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