Killed with a Kiss: A Tinsel Pine Cozy Mystery - 2 by Wendy Meadows

Author:Wendy Meadows [Meadows, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Majestic Owl Publishing LLC

Chapter Ten

That's how Mary and Azalea find me, crouched on one of the living room rugs, awkwardly cradling the sobbing Isabella Atkins.

Help me, I mouth desperately.

Mary acts first, handing Bruno's leash to Azalea, who looks just as bewildered as I feel. Mary has to tread carefully around the thick pile of legal documents, but she eventually makes her way to us. Then, using the same care and gentleness she'd use with a shivering dog, she pulls Isabella up and off me.

“Let's get you into the kitchen,” she murmurs soothingly. “I'll make you something to drink. Hot chocolate, or something stronger?”

“Hot chocolate,” she whimpers. “My grandma always used to make it when I was upset.”

“Hot chocolate it is.”

She gets an arm around Isabella's waist and supports most of her weight as they hobble into the kitchen. I follow in their wake, too bemused to do anything else. Isabella's sobs only seem to be growing louder and more frequent. I shoot Azalea a pointed glance when she tries to follow.

“Take Bruno outside, if you would.”

Azalea's lip juts in a pout and she plants her feet stubbornly. “I want to stay.”

“I don't want you and Bruno in the middle of this.”

“But—”

I lower my voice to a whisper as Mary leads Isabella further away. I don't think she's really listening to our conversation, but if so, I really don't want her to overhear what I'm about to say.

“If she's guilty of something, there's no telling how she'll react. The killer beat Sharona Peterson to death, Lea. I don't want you getting hurt. So go outside with Bruno, and if we don't come out in the next twenty minutes, call the cops.”

Lea looks as though she wants to argue with me, but in the end, she huffs, stamps her foot once like a petulant child, and storms out muttering, “I miss everything!”

“And be grateful for that,” I mutter when the door swings closed behind her.

It's terrifying to be on the business end of a case, confronting potential killers with the knowledge that they probably want to kill you while you try to ferret out their secrets. I don't say any of that aloud, though, opting to shuffle into the kitchen after Mary.

She's situated Isabella in a chair with an intricate wrought-iron back. She's hunched over, her cries muffled but far from over. Gone is the glamorous, aloof model. In her place is a disheveled mess. Her eyeliner and mascara run in black rivulets down her pale cheeks, her lipstick is smudged, and her bronzer is eroding off her cheeks due to the steady stream of tears.

Mary pours a powdered packet of cocoa into a large mug and stirs it as quickly as she can, then offers it to Isabella when the powder dissolves fully.

“There you go, Bella. Now, can you tell us what's wrong?”

“She s-saw,” Isabella chokes out. “She s-saw the documents. I didn't want anyone to see.”

“What documents?” Mary says, glancing from Isabella to me.

“A lawsuit,” I supply. “She had one leveled against Sharona Peterson.

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