Mint Chip and Murder by Erin Huss

Author:Erin Huss [Huss, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Published: 2020-03-10T04:00:00+00:00

I'd never been to Patrick's office before. His address was displayed on my direct deposit stubs, and I pulled up the directions on my phone and said a quick prayer of thanks to the traffic gods that my ETA was only eighteen minutes. My car grumbled to life, and I was on my way. Neither Kevin nor Amy asked where I was going, how long I'd be gone, or why I was limping (I'd rammed my knee into the side of the desk in my rush to leave). They were far too invested in their Zankla books to care about murderous matters.

Elder Property Management was located in a pale building across the street from a Trader Joe's. Much to my surprise, there was a free parking lot designated for the small industrial park.

There were few things that made me happier than free parking.

Up on the second floor in Unit 293, I found a tinted door with Elder Property Management engraved on a brass plate. I yanked and pushed on the handle a few times with no luck. The door was locked, despite the Hours of Operation 9AM-5PM M-F decal on the window. I kept pushing and pulling anyway, hoping the door would magically open and there would be Patrick, sitting behind his desk, already on the phone with Hampton, assuring him that he had nothing to do with any women in barrels.

I cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed my forehead against the window. The blinds were partially drawn, and all I caught was the edge of a desk. I crouched down to get a better look. From this angle, I saw the backside of a computer and a hand on the mouse. Patrick was in there!

Or at least someone was.

I knocked on the door politely at first. When that didn't work, I used the inside of my fists until I heard the click of the lock. Patrick opened the door with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead. He had on a blue, collared shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants and stark white Nike shoes on his feet. His attire often reminded me of Forest Gump's, minus the Bubba Gump hat. Patrick had a cul-de-sac of hair and a no-nonsense air to him.

"Cambria," he said. "I thought you were sick today."

So he had read my email. Just hadn't bothered to reply.

"I'm feeling better." I wanted to come right out and ask him why he'd been acting so suspicious these last two days, but decided to ease into the accusations. "Did you talk to Chase or Hampton?"

"Detective Hampton and I have been playing phone tag."

"I tried your office line, and it was disconnected."

"Everyone calls me on my cell. There was no point in paying for a line I don't use."

"Oh. OK" was all I could think to say. I clasped my hands and waited, thinking he'd invite me in. But all he did was stand there, wedged between the door and frame, staring down at me as if I'd just crashed a party I wasn't invited to.

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