A Faire to Remember: Magically Suspicious Mystery Book 1 (Magically Suspicious Mysteries) by Misty Simon

Author:Misty Simon [Simon, Misty]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon Says
Published: 2021-01-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

I made time to go visit Maynard’s cottage even though I had a hundred things I should have been doing right then that had to do with the faire opening in a few hours. But I had to get this out of the way now. Finding a murderer in our midst was more important than making sure Ilsan at the puppet show had all the sticks she needed.

And if it wasn’t circulating around the faire that Maynard was dead yet, then I had a better chance of catching someone in a lie. If they said he was dead without having heard it from one of the four of us who’d found him, I could put them on the spot.

No one answered my knock at Maynard’s house, though, and there were no lights on in the place. The house was dark even with the sun streaming down from above the trees.

I took a few minutes to go get the master key from my house and braced myself to enter. It was so out of the norm to do this that I had almost forgotten where I’d put the keys. But Fig sniffed them out in a box under the sink when I talked to myself in my kitchen about not knowing where they were.

That could come in handy, but I’d have to test the limits later. Right now I had a house to enter, one that may or may not have an interloper I knew nothing about except that she was a she.

I probably should have called Finn to help me, or maybe Wes was a better choice. But I didn’t want to endanger anyone else. And I could do this. I was the manager of the faire, after all. I didn’t need anyone else to help me with things I’d been charged with doing myself.

Since this cottage was shielded by the forest in the back and did not have a sidewalk outside the back yard like mine did, I chose to enter from the back door instead of leaving myself open to watchers from the front.

I had to force the key into the lock as if through some kind of hard substance, and then the knob most certainly did not want to turn. Then I had to really put my back into it when I shoved my shoulder into the door that did not want to budge. Maybe Maynard had never used this door, since it backed right up to the woods. I’d have to get the lock and hinges oiled.

Fig wormed his way between me and the door, doing his three-toned bark, and stood in front of me, refusing to let me hit the door with my shoulder again.

“Dog, I need to get in here. Something could be going on. I have to know what it is. The faire is my responsibility.” I tried to scoot around him, and he dodged to cut me off again. For such a little thing he seemed to block the doorway entirely.

And then he put his paw on my forearm and I had two things happen almost simultaneously.

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