A Litter of Golden Mysteries by Neil S. Plakcy

Author:Neil S. Plakcy [Plakcy, Neil S.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B087ZP2WCW
Goodreads: 53356169
Publisher: Samwise Books
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Part 2 – Hardy Boys

I was stunned. Though Stewart’s Crossing looked like a picture-perfect small town, nestled against a crook of the Delaware River, I knew better than most that bad things happened anywhere.

“That’s awful,” I said, leaning toward Gail. “But how did she get inside before you opened for business?”

“We haven’t cut an opening between the rooms yet, so the contractor we hired put one of those key holders that real estate agents use on the back door of the old dress shop,” Gail said. “There’s a code to open it up and it has the key inside in case the workmen get there before the boss does.”

She rubbed her upper arms. “We called the police right away and an officer showed up a few minutes later. And then Rick came, and all these other officers, and they wanted to keep Dec there to talk to him.” She wiped a tear away from the edge of her right eye. “You don’t think they’ll blame him, do you?”

“Rick’s a good guy,” I said. “If Declan had nothing to do with the girl’s death, then Rick will figure that out. Did either of them give you any details?”

She shook her head. “Do you think Rick might tell you what happened?”

“I’ll go downstairs and see. Rochester, you stay here with Aunt Gail.”

He looked at me with sorrowful eyes, unhappy to be left out of anything, but he stayed by Gail’s side and licked her hand.

I went back down the stairs, outside, and around to the front of the café. Declan was standing by the front window, and Rick stood behind him, talking on his cell phone. When Declan saw me he came outside. He was a tall, strapping New Zealander who’d come to the US for business school and then stayed on to be with Gail. He wore a heavy cable-knit sweater over jeans, and even so he looked cold, his face ruddy.

“I need to make sure Gail is okay,” he said. “But the police won’t let me leave.”

“She’s fine,” I said. “She’s upstairs with Rochester. What happened down here?”

“I came down around six because I wanted to sand a couple of the cabinets,” he said. “We have a great contractor but the more work I can do, the cheaper it’ll be in the end. I came in the back door and turned on the light, and I saw the girl’s body on the floor.”

His face was pale in the growing light, and his lower lip quivered.

“That must have been a shock,” I said.

He nodded. “I went right over to her and I was going to feel for a pulse, but as soon as I touched her skin and realized how cold she was, I knew she had to be dead.” He looked up at me. “She was wearing a T-shirt that read Toxic Womb. Is that a band, do you know?”

“Not a clue. Was there a lot of blood?”

“Yeah, around her head.” I noticed that his hands shook as he spoke. “It looked like somebody bashed her head in.

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