Pool of Death (The Possumwood Mysteries Book 8) by Dey Holly

Author:Dey, Holly [Dey, Holly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Mare Books
Published: 2022-08-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

“That’s not mine!” Savannah leaned over to pick the items up.

PC grabbed her arm. “No! Don’t touch that.”

A few people turned around, then went back to their whispered conversations.

The detective pulled out her phone. “I’m going to take a few pictures.” She snapped the objects, the purse, and the chair.

Art cocked his eyebrow, as if he were a film noir detective. “What are you trying to hide?”

“I’m not trying to hide anything. That stuff doesn’t belong to me!”

“It was in your purse!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” PC broke in. “It wasn’t there when I talked to Mrs. Turner earlier. Art? Would you go back there and get me at least 3 sheets of paper and that stapler?”

He gave her a sarcastic little salute and stomped off.

PC put a chair over the spilled items, so no one stepped on them. “So, Mrs. Turner? If those things don’t belong to you, how do you suppose they got in your purse?”

“How should I know? Somebody could have stuffed them in when the lights were out. But why? Why would someone do that?”

“If Mr. LeBlack died of natural causes, then that’s an excellent question. If someone killed him, for example, with a ring smeared with some type of contact poison, they might want to get rid of the evidence, right?”

Or call attention to the evidence and pretend that someone planted it on them to try to derail the investigation.

The metal crochet hook clattered to the floor. “Why me?”

“If I were guessing, I’d guess they think one older woman in a garish pink shawl looks very much like another. Perhaps the dramatic shawl was a distraction, so nobody paid attention to the woman’s face.”

Savannah laughed. “You’re old enough to know that no one pays attention to an older woman’s face, anyway. After forty, women become invisible. We’re like ghosts, haunting our own lives.”

PC shifted her weight. “Now Mrs. Turner…”

“Could you pick up that hook for me?” Savannah pointed to the blue implement that had rolled under the chair next to her.

The detective retrieved the hook and handed it back.

“Thank you.”

A glowering Art returned, smelling of peppermint, with the paper and stapler. PC still had the pen she’d used earlier in her bag, so she wrote out the location found and a description of each item. She rolled two sheets of paper into a tight tube and used it to push each item into its own makeshift envelope, then stapled them closed.

Art stood and watched, smacking his gum during the entire process.

“I’m going to put these with the rest of the evidence. If you remember anything, I’ll be around.”

Savannah nodded.

PC headed to where Toby was guarding LeBlack’s body.

Art dogged her steps. “Well? Are you going to tell him to arrest her?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She sure looks suspicious to me.”

PC stopped. “Does she strike you as being stupid?”

“Stupid? Cranky, perhaps, but no, I wouldn’t say stupid.”

“Good. So, if you had a striking blue scarf, with the murder weapon and some gloves that probably contain your DNA all wrapped

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