Death of a Diva (Jamie Winters Mysteries book #2) by Kelly Rey

Author:Kelly Rey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romantic suspense, mystery, romantic comedy, paranormal, womens fiction, chick lit, psychic, cozy, psychic mediums, psychic abilites
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing

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Considering Dorcas's chosen profession, I'd half expected her to live in a castle with turrets surrounded by a moat and a swirling mist. She'd lived instead in a McMansion in a cookie-cutter development of McMansions with tiny lawns, no telephone poles or overhead utility lines, and a crossover or SUV in every driveway. A Stepford Subdivision.

I found the right address and parked at the curb. The Escort looked completely out of place there, but so did I without high heels and a set of pearls. I staggered up the front walk in my rebellious flats and stabbed at the doorbell, balancing the box of papers on my left shoulder.

Deirdre opened the door, her hair pulled back into a short, severe ponytail. She was wearing black slacks and a pale green, baggy sweater, but there was no hiding her big bones. Or her grief. Her face was pale and her eyes lifeless.

I shifted the box to my right shoulder. "I'm Jamie Winters, from the Parker, Dennis law office. Is Mr. Beeber here? I'm returning some papers to him from his attorney."

She shook her head. "Weaver's out with his brother. If you want to bring them in, it's all right by me." She pushed the storm door open.

I angled past her into the foyer and waited for direction. I heard Chandler barking from the back of the house. For some reason, it made me smile. At least something was still as it should be in this home.

Deirdre gestured toward a family room off to the left, and I followed her, putting the box down behind the sofa. We stood there awkwardly. Well, maybe I was the awkward one. I felt like an intruder, in the Beebers' home and in their lives. Probably it didn't help that I'd been the one to find Dorcas's body. I felt as if they held that against me somehow. Plus I wasn't always very good at the social niceties, and that deficit was amplified when I was dealing with a virtual stranger.

Or maybe I was overthinking things. Another deficit.

"I was just packing for my flight home," she told me. "There's nothing left for me to do here."

I nodded. "I'm very sorry." I reached into my handbag for Howard's letter. "This is for you."

She read it over without comment, refolded it, and stuffed it in the pocket of her slacks. I'd expected a little more of a reaction to the news of her inheritance, something between Whoo-hoo! and Damn, more money? But she was a blank slate.

Chandler barked again, more sharply.

Deirdre blew out a breath and yelled "Shut up!"

Chandler delivered another defiant yap and shut up.

"That dog," she muttered. "Weaver insists on crating him when he goes out, but Chandler doesn't like it in there. He's spoiled rotten. No wonder, when my sister carried him around with her everywhere she went."

I smiled. "I remember." I especially remembered all the times Chandler had expressed a desire to gnaw my face off. I kept smiling anyway.

Deirdre looked at her watch.

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