The Death of Charlotte Wilson: A Lee Harding Mystery (Lee Harding Mysteries Book 3) by Everett Beth

Author:Everett, Beth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fern Publishing
Published: 2024-02-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

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JACK OCCUPIED MY hotel room, so I returned to Amy’s house. Things between Amy and I had warmed up, but I stepped carefully and tried to be a better guest. Justin’s condo had me dreaming of a place of my own, and Portland’s sunny, mosquito-free summer seduced me daily. I’d never had a place of my own.

I ate an edible and smoked some weed before getting into Ellen’s little car so I wouldn’t throw up on her leather interiors. “Is that mid-century on the hill still available?” I gripped the handle above my door as we wound up a road at twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. “I’ve had fantasies about restoring the place.”

She laughed. “Not a chance, honey. That house sold for cash the same day I showed it to you. You’ll have to move fast on anything you like. And as I told you with the condo, I don’t believe in the theory of “meant to be.” If you like something, we need to make it happen.”

“Make it happen?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

We climbed a narrow road with a velvety fern wall on one side and a sheer drop into the ravine on another. I hoped she’d say something like, “Kill your competitors,” and make my life easy.

“It means bid fast and high, cash if possible, and don’t be a pain in the ass during inspections.”

I thought about what the creepy room in Amy’s house could have contained and decided I wouldn’t take Ellen's advice at my home inspection.

“It feels like Southwest Portland is one ravine after another,” I said. “Do they have names?

“Most of them have trails below. Ask Amy for names. She’s probably been in everyone.”

I laughed. “I thought Amy went missing this week, but she was just full moon hiking on Mt. Hood.”

“Missing. Why would Amy go missing?”

I gripped the handle over the window while she whirled up the curves. “Didn’t you hear? Amos Patenaude was murdered.”

She kept her eyes on the road. I wished I’d saved the conversation for lunch to see her eyes, but thankfully, she kept them on the road.

“I thought that fire was accidental.” The wheels screeched around a hairpin turn, and she swerved to avoid hitting a man and his hound. “Why the hell would you walk your dog on this road?”

“It was arson,” I said.

“How do you know so much about it?” she asked.

“I ran into Amos in the park on the day he died. I was the last one to see him alive. Well, except for the murderer,” I added. “Did you know Amos?”

“I know the property. Amos's son called and asked me to price it not too long ago,” she said. “Of course, I told him I would do no such thing until he was the owner.”

“You know everyone,” I said. “It was a sweet house.”

“This may sound macabre, but the fire improved the lot. Builders don’t like the red tape and costs of tearing an old house down.”

“The man I met would never have allowed that,” I said.

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