Double Dog Dare by E. J. Cochrane

Author:E. J. Cochrane [Cochrane, E.J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781642470062
Publisher: Bella Books
Published: 2018-11-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Maddie’s first impression of Esther’s home was that it was in dire need of a renovation. The space, not much more than a studio, was crammed with ornate (some might say tacky) décor, including several vases of varying sizes and matching lamps on either side of a tufted, floral-print couch that had been hermetically sealed in clear plastic to preserve (Maddie assumed) its elegance. The lamps’ output barely put a dent in the gloom created by heavy maroon drapes covering the windows. Nevertheless, Maddie’s vision snagged on the golden silk tassels dangling from the valance of each window as well as from the lampshades. An imposing, intricately-carved coffee table (burdened by a wealth of doilies strewn across its dark surface) occupied the middle of the blue shag carpet. And though she had never felt claustrophobic before, Esther’s wallpaper—a cream background obscured by a profusion of peonies—gave Maddie the sense the room was closing in on her. The whole experience was like stepping inside a miniature time capsule.

Stockpiling static electricity as she shuffled toward her avocado green kitchen, Esther cooed lovingly at two tiny, yapping balls of ruddy fluff. Needing to focus on something other than her garish yet mesmerizing interior design choices, Maddie squatted to greet the perpetually barking Thelma and Louise. The dogs yipped and spun furiously as she doted on them. She didn’t know what kind of dogs they were, but if she had to guess, she would say someone had managed to breed Persian cats with Pomeranians.

“Would you care for some tea, dear?” Esther’s reedy voice barely reached Maddie over the noise of the dogs and Esther’s flat-screen television, the one concession to modernity she appeared to have made.

“You don’t need to go to any trouble for me, Mrs. Snodgrass.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” The sharp whistle of a teakettle added to the commotion of her tiny home. “The water was still warm from my visit with Mr. Fitzwilliam.”

“Does Mr. Fitzwilliam stop by often?” she asked, relishing the minor revenge of calling him “mister” even though he wasn’t around to hear it. “Is he a friend of yours?”

“Heavens no, Matilda. He’s a policeman. A detective,” she announced proudly, like she was in some way responsible for his career path.

“A detective?” She feigned astonishment. “I hope you aren’t in trouble.”

“Not me. My neighbors. I probably shouldn’t say anything.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s investigating a murder.”

Maddie supplied the appropriate surprised gasp (hopeful that it would spur Esther on to sharing more confidences). Her counterfeit alarm soon turned genuine as she watched Esther totter into the room carrying a silver tray laden with an ostentatious tea set and two slabs of coffee cake on delicate filigree plates, all of it atop the requisite bed of doilies. Esther executed a complicated dance around the attention-seeking Thelma and Louise, and Maddie (alternating between awe and concern) wondered if Esther would respond to an offer of help with the same independent irritation as Granny Doyle.

Unaware she’d been

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