To Kill a Mocking Brit: A Libby Cord Mystery by Hewitt D. P

Author:Hewitt, D. P.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cozy Cat Press
Published: 2020-10-11T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

So, now I’d gone from avoiding Mary to avoiding Greg. It wasn’t really as hard as it sounds. Greg was off doing cop stuff all day, so the only time I was ever likely to see him was when Mary invited us over for the monthly dinner, unless I deliberately sought him out, which I wasn’t about to do. When the next dinner came up, I pleaded a migraine and stayed home. Ben looked skeptical, but I do get migraines every now and then, so he let it pass without comment and went without me.

Maybe the next dinner would fall in the middle of a flu epidemic. If cold and flu season started in summer this year.

Meanwhile, over three months had passed since Clive Woodward’s murder, and people had more or less forgotten about it. Crowds of sightseers no longer flocked to Scott’s Office Supplies, to Scott’s chagrin and Donna’s relief, although she still refused to open the freight elevator unless someone else was there, too. Cletus hadn’t arrested anybody else, and the story of Mary’s arrest hadn’t become public knowledge. I was sure Greg was still hoping for new information, although after all this time, Clive’s murder must be ready for the cold case file. I knew that there hadn’t been any fingerprints on the letter opener, and no bloodstained items of clothing had been found in a handy nearby dumpster. The police couldn’t check out everyone’s closets and laundry rooms looking for bloody clothes without some suspicion, and that was the whole problem. There weren’t any suspects.

Aside from the fact, of course, that nearly everyone in Coopers Crossing hated Clive, but that didn’t automatically make one a murder suspect. Which was probably good, because the jail wasn’t all that big. It seemed Clive’s murderer, whoever he or she might be, had gotten away with it. Maybe I didn’t exactly feel that the killer had performed a public service, but I didn’t miss Clive, either. As far as I could tell, neither did anybody else. Except Deborah, of course.

I decided to stop in at Scott’s to catch up on the local gossip. What I mean, of course, is that I needed to buy more paper for the computer printer. The gossip was just frosting on the cake. Really.

I’d just been at the bakery for a half-moon cookie, so I went through the back door, stepping around a locksmith.

“Changing the locks?” I asked Donna, who was leaning against the counter, chatting with a customer.

She nodded. “Scott just realized one of the back door keys was missing. He has no idea how long, because he keeps one with him and the spare is always hanging there for one of us to use if we need it.” She waved a hand at a rectangular piece of wood nailed to the wall just inside the door, with several hooks holding keys with tags. “None of us ever does, of course. I unlock the back door with my key when I come to

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