Silent Sands: Agnes Taylor Mystery - Book 1 by Bernhard Eva

Author:Bernhard, Eva
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781777787707
Published: 2021-07-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

“Kannst’e nich’ aufpassen!”

Frig— Righto. Better do watch out. Now her feet were soaked and her legs spattered up to her thighs. Good thing the water in the puddle that had accumulated in a pothole was fairly clear. Might dry up without leaving her jeans in too much of a mess.

While rooting for her phone, Polly offered a token apology for her evident inattention. The woman pushing the stroller appeared none too pleased. Understandably, as the toddler now hollered to get out and splash in the puddle. Always setting a perfect example, that’s me—Polly grinned encouragement at the infant rebel and hastened on. If she didn’t want to miss her chance to catch Sera in the act, she’d need to run a lot faster.

The iPhone displayed 10:10 AM when she checked it on the fly. Just over fifteen minutes since Agnes’s call to report their arrival at the bus depot. Sera’s insistence on spending the day by herself might mean she intended to visit the seniors’ residence. Perhaps a long shot. Worth a try. Once she spotted Sera enter or depart, she could make inquiries. Googled directions to Lüüt Mööv last night. Also found out it meant “Little Gull.”

When she turned the corner, a street sweeper meandered along picking up errant wrappers that spoiled the high-end ambiance. As she strolled closer to the residence, a young man appeared, pushing a wheelchair through a side gate onto the sidewalk. An elderly person with short frizzy white hair leaned over the armrest in a terribly uncomfortable position, by the looks of it. A plaid blanket of muted colors drawn up to the chin left anyone guessing at the gender of the occupant.

Instinctively, Polly drew back behind a lamppost—insufficient cover even for her skinny little frame. A gap farther down in the old-fashioned cast-iron fence on her side of the road caught her eye. She slipped through and cautiously proceeded through the park-like grounds until level with the walkway to Lüüt Mööv.

A huge tree provided shelter, and an ivy-covered fence made her less noticeable to anyone leaving the place. If need be, she might pretend to be examining the impressive chestnut. To disguise her features, she pulled on her black rain jacket, its deep hood hiding the upper part of her face. From afar someone might take her for a child. Hoods keep ticks away—assuming any dared to invade these manicured grounds, she smirked to herself.

Eyes glued to her mobile—its camera trained on the entrance arbor—she hunkered down against the tree. To any passerby, it would be yet another kid busy texting.

Meanwhile, her mind wandered and marveled at digital tech’s ability to obscure all kinds of behavior considered whacko back in the day. If you walked around all by your lonesome, whispering softly—never mind talking loudly—people gave you a wide berth. Or worse, you’d end up in a loony bin, as they used to call it. Now sport an earbud or headset and you can yak non-stop, and no one gives a damn.

Incredible—she mused—what you can overhear strolling the aisles of supermarkets.

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