Farewell Performance by Donna Huston Murray

Author:Donna Huston Murray
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Hard to put down, cozy mystery ebook, intriguing plot, cozy mysteries in paperback, murder mystery, light mystery books, cozy mystery series
Publisher: Ravenhill Press
Published: 2024-06-25T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Waitaminute, here,” Snook interrupted my abbreviated recital. “I wanna make some notes. We got Ann out there in the driveway who’s worried Jan might want her husband, Ti or Tee Dee or whatever you call her with the tricky business deal, Laura um Campbell um Mickleford, who according to you hated the deceased’s guts. Who else?”

Frank remained as calm as when I’d started. Calmer, maybe. He raised a hand and patiently waited for Chief Snook to notice. “Later,” he told the older man.

He then addressed me. “Why would you say Ms. Fairchild ran off like that?”

“Last night? I wasn’t sure, but I was afraid for her.”

“Go on ...”

Rushing away from Didi’s house Jan had paid only minimal attention to the late-night roads. In a burst of speed she scooted toward the next stop sign, braked lightly, and cruised on. When her mind wandered, she slowed enough for me to catch up. I doubted she even noticed I was behind her.

I opened a window to sharpen my senses. Tire noise and the hum of my engine were the only discernible sounds. The strong odors of dew-dampened asphalt and earth filled my head.

We skirted Ludwig on semirural roads that had been in existence as long as I remembered. After about ten minutes, we approached the northern township line and began to wend our way past snugly-placed duplexes and small single homes. Stop signs punctuated every other corner, and streetlights softened the night. Scarcely any living room windows were illuminated, attesting to the somnambulance of the community on Sunday night—small-town America, as Mom and apple pie as it gets.

The rented Nissan suddenly jolted me with a sharp left turn into the driveway of an elementary school.

I hesitated only a moment before following. Unless Jan was so addled that she was nearly comatose, she must have picked up my headlights before this. Yet she’d made no effort to evade me, which didn’t’ assuage my fears. Subconsciously, suicides often plan to be stopped.

I couldn’t believe someone with her professional success might be contemplating anything so drastic, but with suicide you don’t take chances. That I had seen no hint of depression during our few days together meant nothing. Jan was an actress. She was accustomed to deceiving everyone.

Our cars crossed a large asphalt playground edged with basketball hoops and painted with hopscotch squares. Jan parked in the shadow of the low, brick L-shaped building on the last bit of paving before a stand of sugar maples. My headlights washed across the chain-link fences defining lawns where woods once were. In our headlights, leaves as brilliant as rain slickers drifted to the ground from the remaining trees.

I eased the Subaru in next to the red Nissan and climbed out. Jan had emerged from her car and leaned against its trunk to wait for me.

While crickets sawed out background music, I hopped onto the trunk of the Sentra and rested my feet on the bumper. Jan’s abrupt departure hadn’t given me time to grab a sweater, and the cold night air seeped through my long-sleeved shirt while evening mist dampened my hair.

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