The Easter Sunday Slaughter: A Cozy Spring Murder Mystery (Claire Andersen Murder for All Seasons Cozy Mystery Series Book 2) by Imogen Plimp

Author:Imogen Plimp [Plimp, Imogen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Murder for All Seasons Publishing
Published: 2020-12-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

After a round of espresso and splitting a double serving of the best banana pudding I’d ever had, we parted ways for the afternoon. Evelyn returned to the post office, Ellen commenced her uphill trek to Mug headquarters, and I headed back home—where Rupert was awaiting my return with his leash dangling from his snout (sometimes, when he picks up his own leash, he manages to get it tangled up around the top of his nose).

Rupert and I did a fairly uneventful loop around the neighborhood—past the Town Hall and mayor’s secretary Lolly, who gave Rupert an excitable albeit high-pitched “good afternoon” pet—and stopped in on Gary on our way back home. No time like the present, I figured.

This time, I used the giant brass knocker to knock on Jack and Gary’s imposing front door. Gary responded from the back of the house: “Hellooo? Who is it?”

“Hi Gary! It’s Claire—and Rupert!”

Rupert barked.

“Come on in through the back door!” he called from around the corner. “I’m out back!”

Rupert and I rounded the building and made our way down the alleyway, which was dark in the shadow of my house—cold and damp. I opened up the back door, kicked the early spring mud off my boots onto the welcome mat, and the two of us let ourselves in to the screened-in back porch.

The parts of the walls that weren’t window were painted a deep crimson but, oddly, the room still felt bright and airy. Hanging plants were tucked into each corner—one of them was just beginning to sprout tiny lavender-tinged flowers. And two wicker loveseats sat angled toward one another, a mustard-tiled end table between them, positioned to watch the sun setting behind the mountains out back and to the west. Jack was seated in the loveseat on the far end of the porch, wrapped up in a thick grey sweater and wide flannel scarf, sipping tea out of a delicate cup hand-painted in iridescent gold filigree with ends so thin they were nearly see-through.

He caught me eyeing his tea-ware and smiled. “Ellen brought me these cups—from Mug.”

“Of course,” I grinned. And then, getting my bearings, I exhaled sharply as I looked out the screened windows at the mountain range beyond. “Wow!” I breathed. “What a view!”

Gary stood and smiled at me warmly. “I know—aren’t I lucky to live here?” He kissed me lightly on each cheek. “Can I get you some tea? I’ve got a pot of ginger brewing in the kitchen.”

“Yes please!” I said as I settled into the loveseat opposite Gary’s.

When Gary returned from the kitchen, toting a porcelain tea pot and golden cup that matched his own, he flopped back down onto his perch and sighed. “Ugh,” he said. “What a dreary day…”

I smiled as I filled the spare cup with steaming hot tea, silently noting how remarkably beautiful it was outside to everyone but him. The pungent aroma of fresh ginger filled the porch. I sat back into my seat, blowing on the top of my cup.

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