Death at the Tavern: a 1930s Cozy Murder Mystery (A Higgins & Hawke Mystery) by Lee Strauss

Author:Lee Strauss [Strauss, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781988677545
Publisher: La Plume Press
Published: 2019-01-27T23:00:00+00:00

13

The next morning, Haley stood in Dr. Guthrie’s office with her arms folded. Though she could see through the glass wall that separated his office from the rest of the morgue, he also had a thorough view of Haley’s workspace, including her desk in the opposite corner. She couldn’t ignore him when he called her over.

She was stunned by his announcement. “Are you saying that the Marchesi family refuses to claim the body?”

Dr. Guthrie adjusted his glasses. “That’s what I said, didn’t I? You’re not hard of hearing, are you?”

Haley narrowed her gaze disapprovingly. If there was a person in the room who was hearing-impaired, it certainly wasn’t her. She ignored his jibe and plowed on. “It’s bad enough that they created their wealth on the backs of the citizens of Boston, now they expect the taxpayers to pick up the tab to bury one of their own.”

Stefano Marchesi wasn’t the only one abandoned and scheduled for a pauper’s field burial. Agnes O’Reilly’s family were farmers in Ohio and couldn’t afford to make a claim. They’d wondered if the rich family where their dear daughter, Agnes, had been employed would show mercy. Haley hadn’t had the heart to tell Mr. O’Reilly the truth, and she doubted Madame Mercier would pay the fee for a proper burial. It didn’t hurt to ask, Haley supposed.

Leaving Dr. Guthrie to “work” at his desk—meaning he’d be snoozing within ten minutes—Haley returned to her own to catch up on paperwork. Her mind went back to the death of Agnes O’Reilly, also known as Snowflake, and she mentally reviewed the scene of the crime. Her subconscious niggled. Something was amiss. If only she could see those photographs Miss Hawke had taken.

It wasn’t a big surprise that Miss Hawke had failed her. Members of the press were like vultures, circling the carcass, looking for a bit of meat they could snag. They weren’t interested in sharing, and they didn’t care if they had to fight one another and squawk loudly to get what they wanted.

Haley had hoped Miss Hawke was different.

Then again, Miss Hawke had kept her promise so far and hadn’t published the story. And the photographs hadn’t shown up anywhere yet. Maybe Miss Hawke hadn’t had a chance to develop them. Or worse, she’d bungled the process, and Haley could never hope to see them.

Yesterday, she had tried her luck at investigating Mr. March’s death, to no avail. Maybe she’d have better odds with Miss O’Reilly. Haley opened the girl’s file and read her notes again.

Twenty-year-old Caucasian female of Irish descent. Five foot four, one hundred and twelve pounds. First-trimester pregnancy. Cause of death: gunshot to the frontal lobe.

Just when Haley was about to give up and make herself a coffee, someone knocked on the door. She could’ve called out for the person to come in, but she’d been sitting for a while and getting to her feet would do her good. She opened the door and was speechless. Standing before her was Miss Hawke.

“Dr. Higgins, I hope I’m not interrupting.

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