Tinsel, Trials, & Traitors by Mary Seifert

Author:Mary Seifert
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: amateur sleuths, cozy mystery series, pets in mystery stories, murder mystery series books for adults, mystery series for women, titanic trial books, christmas mystery stories
Publisher: Columbine Publishing Group, LLC

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Night cache?” prompted Brenna as she stuffed her long tresses up into her cap. She wrapped her coat around her and yanked up the zipper. “Where are we going, Mr. Brown?” He showed her his screen. She pressed keys on her phone and brought up the identical listing. “Do you have something to write with, Ms. Wilk?” she said as she pulled on her mittens.

I added a pen to my bulging pockets, and stepped onto the landing. When I saw the creamy-white Range Rover in front of me, I stopped in my tracks. “Nice wheels, Mr. Brown. New?” It was a rhetorical question. The paper tag in the rear window and the buffed exterior gave it away.

“We settled the case,” Harley said, wiggling his eyebrows. Brenna giggled, another good sign.

“Maybe you don’t want Maverick to take a ride.”

“He’s welcome. Have him sit in the back seat.”

“I get to sit by Maverick,” Brenna said.

We climbed in and I inhaled that new leather smell I’d probably never have in a vehicle of my own.

Harley’s phone communicated with the Range Rover’s GPS and it periodically announced the direction and remaining distance. Brenna chatted breezily from the backseat, drawing our attention to newly erected displays of decorations pulsing their holiday greetings. I wondered if Ida put up Christmas lights.

When the last of the city lights receded from view, we drove into the pitch-black night of a new moon. Harley’s face glowed green in the dash lights. Maverick’s head rested on the seat and Brenna leaned into him. Harley turned on the radio and tuned in to a holiday station.

The Range Rover carried us to the state park entrance. Harley grabbed an envelope from the center console and jumped out. He slid it into the slot and claimed a permit at the kiosk. As the gravel crunched beneath the tires, I shuddered, shaking away the morbid memory of the body Maverick found on our first visit to this park.

When we reached the parking lot, Harley shut off the engine. The dash lights dimmed, but his face still glowed with excitement.

Brenna read the listing, “This cache is best found at night. You can find it during the day, but it may be more difficult and not nearly as rewarding. You will need a bright flashlight. Follow the glow-in-the-dark FireTacks.”

Brenna opened the door and she and Maverick bolted, scouring the trees with her flashlight, and darting from one set of reflectors to the next. Harley grabbed a stiff new backpack and we followed.

We hadn’t been searching long when Brenna and Maverick stopped next to a short wall. “X marks the spot,” she said, shining her light on the nine FireTacks.

We poked and prodded and pulled and pressed, but nothing seemed to unearth the cache. Brenna reached as high as she could and then crawled on her knees. I covered the area in between. Light beams crisscrossed the nearby trees. Maverick gave a close approximation of searching and pawed at the base of a tree stump before raising his hind leg and faked marking it.

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