The Coffee House Sleuths: A Garden to Die For (Book 1) by T. Lockhaven

Author:T. Lockhaven [Lockhaven, T.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Twisted Key Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

I Get the Point

Michael sat at his desk listening to the rain beat against the windows of his cupola. He absentmindedly tapped-tapped his fingers on his desktop in chorus with the pitter-patter on the panes.

He moved his notepad aside, leaned back in his squeaky chair, and stretched his legs. He pushed himself away from his desk and slowly stood. He’d been distractedly writing for hours. He wasn’t distracted from external elements, but from the internal clutter banging around in his head. He shook one foot then the other; they were numb from him sitting so long. That can’t be healthy.

His notebook displayed a frazzled mind, the papers filled with eraser debris and cross-outs. A series of wet rings covered his desktop, from his watered-down glass of iced tea. A clump of lemon floated along the bottom like a dead fish.

Michael thought about the conversation he’d had with Olivia about tracking down where the emails originated. Why does it even matter? It won’t change anything. Herb would still be dead. A con artist would still have his money, and it would only bolster the case against him, that he didn’t own the house.

The sound of glass shattering startled Michael. He quickly looked around his office for a weapon. He pulled open his desk drawer and snatched up a miniature Louisville Slugger bat his father had given him as a child. He quietly descended the stairwell, his arm cocked back over his head, his bat at the ready. I’ll fake a head strike and then I’ll smack him in the knees.

He paused at the bottom, cringing as the step creaked and groaned under his weight. The backdoor flung open—whoever it was certainly took the term breaking and entering literally. Michael crept across the living room floor. Wait, what am I doing? What if he has a gun?

It was too late. The intruder dashed into the living room. Michael was caught off guard. A woman, her red hair chopped short—jagged bangs covered her forehead and one of her eyes—came to a stop directly in front of him. Michael recognized her expression, the look in her eyes: a cornered animal, an extremely dangerous cornered animal, with well-groomed eyebrows.

Michael lowered his bat. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

The woman seemed in no mood to answer. She took an aggressive step toward Michael.

He held out his bat and pointed it at her chest. “I think you need to leave before this gets ugly. I have a bat and I’m not afraid to use it.” He waggled it at her, letting her know he meant business.

The woman stared, unblinking, at Michael, her hazel eyes, filled with something he couldn’t describe. Suddenly, her fist cracked down, onto the base of his thumb. He dropped the bat and screamed—she shoved past him and raced down the hallway to the back of the house.

Michael chased after her into the guest room. She grabbed the closet door handle and yanked it open. Michael thought he might have a chance against her with her back turned to him.

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