[Maggie Sullivan 03.0] - Don't Dare a Dame by M. Ruth Myers

Author:M. Ruth Myers [Myers, M. Ruth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical, historical mysteries, historical detective cozy, women sleuths, private investigator
Publisher: Tuesday House
Published: 2015-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

Twenty-five

Picking up Pearlie had cost me a chance to talk to Neal when he came out for lunch. By the time he got off work for the day, I’d need to be elsewhere if I wanted to talk to his stepbrother Franklin Maguire, which I did. At half-past five I was parked near the house where Franklin rented a room with (his landlady bragged) its own tub and toilet.

Franklin was easy to recognize from the photograph Isobel had lent me. As I’d guessed, his hair was light brown. He walked briskly, a man who was either efficient by nature or on some schedule. He took no note of my car as he turned up the walk to the gray house with its freshly painted latticework.

My plan was to give him about twenty minutes before I went calling. He’d have time to wash up, maybe relax a little. It would make him more receptive to my questions.

Franklin had other ideas. He’d only been inside ten minutes before he came out again, wearing the same fawn-colored cap and tweed jacket he’d worn when he went in. This time, though, he carried a book and notebook. He set off with the same purposeful stride.

Recalling his landlady’s mention that he took classes, I jumped out and hurried across the street to intercept him.

“Mr. Maguire?”

“Yes?” he said politely. The lack of hostility put him several notches above George and Neal in my estimation.

“I’m Maggie Sullivan. I left you an envelope.”

“I’m afraid you forgot to put in whatever papers you intended. My landlady said it had something to do with my father’s death.”

“Yes.”

His manner had grown more cautious.

“Could we do this tomorrow? I’ve a class to attend.” He gestured with the book he was carrying.

“I have a car.” I nodded toward my DeSoto. “If I give you a lift can we talk?”

A slight frown had appeared between his eyebrows.

“What’s this about?”

“Some problems your sisters are having.” I handed him one of my cards.

His head snapped up.

“Corrie and Isobel? What kind of problems? Don’t tell me that idiot George is hounding them,” he said sharply.

I liked it that he hadn’t corrected me that they were his stepsisters.

“I don’t think so.” I indicated my car again.

This time he walked quickly around to the passenger’s side and we got under way.

“Before I tell you about it, one question,” I said. “Where were you last Thursday night?”

“A week ago?” His bark of laughter lacked humor. “That’s easy. In a ditch somewhere between here and Waynesville. All night. With my boss.” His eyes slid toward me and I thought I saw the ghost of a grin. “I expect the police have already checked with the farmer who found us. They asked the same thing.

“Herbert — Mr. Moore, my employer — was taking his truck down to pick up a secondhand display case that a place that had gone bust was selling cheap. He asked would I go along to help lift it. We had trouble finding the place, and getting it into the truck took longer than we expected.

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