Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) Read Free

the stone face smiled at last. “No, ma’am. Emergencies only.”
    It was still a beautiful October night in the Adirondacks, cool, but not bitter. I’d walked to the library tonight, enjoying the brisk wind gusts, sniffing the hint of smoke in the air. (Lily Burns had broken the air pollution law again and burned her leaves.) I loved that smell. It had been a great evening to be alive . . .
    Alive. A wave of guilt swept over me. I sat back in the seat and tried to think of nothing.
    Inasmuch as my house was only around the block, it was a short ride, but I was grateful and told Officer Perkins so. I couldn’t have walked back tonight. I hadn’t felt this shaken up in years. It was a real tragedy, too, since Marguerite was her mother’s only child. It was amazing how he had handled Lily, being so calm and all—
    All these things and more I babbled to the impassive Perkins as we navigated the long front walk and the porch steps. At the big front door, the dear, big, heavy, obstinate portal that had greeted me so many happy times in the past, Perkins cut to the chase and held out his palm.
    “Oh, yes, of course.” A tip. I blearily fumbled in my purse for my wallet until—
    “Your key, please?”
    “Oh! My key! Sure!”
    Perkins unlocked and opened the door without any of the jiggling, thumping, and lip-biting that had become my ritual. Apparently all the door needed was a firm hand. I marveled.
    My farewell to Officer Perkins was effusive, as it always was when I was especially glad to see someone leave and felt a little guilty about it. Thank him so very much, he had been more than kind. Yes, I would be fine. No, thanks, I didn’t need him to come in and look around for intruders. I’d be fine. Thanks again. I was the original brave little soldier, I was.
    But once the big door was shut with a brassy jingle and I had driven the bolt lock home, all the starch drained from my legs and I slid slowly to the floor, right on top of my great-grandmother’s heirloom oriental rug. Resting my head against the solid door, I closed my eyes and shut out the world.
    “Sam?” I called into the darkness.
    It was futile, of course. My parent’s obese, beloved old cat barely tolerated my presence. Sam and I had had a kind of inter-species sibling rivalry that I’d never experienced with my sister. The situation had only gotten worse after Dad and Mother died.
    All at once, Sam’s warm, furry bulk filled my lap and he was rubbing his head against my hand. Why he had come was a mystery. He had never once responded to me unless food was involved, but I wasn’t one to turn away a miracle, especially not tonight. I wrapped my arms around him and began to sob into his fur.
    I started to tell Sam about the night’s events and to express my shock at the tragedy, but as my monologue progressed, it gradually turned into a prayer. Sitting on the scratchy wool rug in the entryway, clutching an unusually meek Sam to my breast, I told God how I felt about things.
    It just wasn’t fair, I told Him. Marguerite, poor ditsy mite of a girl, dying so young and so senselessly. And what of her mother, Marie, abandoned by her husband at nineteen with a tiny baby to raise by herself? Dear, earnest, hard-working Marie, who had experienced so much heartache in her life, now left totally alone.
    I knew what it was like, I told Him. Hadn’t I nursed both my beloved parents through the agony of cancer? I had survived somehow, thanks to His help, never once begrudging my sister, Barbara, her beautiful home in Florida, her handsome husband, or her four children.
    And speaking of marriage, Lord, I was forty-one already. Was I ever—
    The doorbell rang. I froze. Sam struggled free of my embrace and bolted. The bell rang again. Slowly, I began to rise, first on hands and knees, and then gripping the doorknob, pulling myself painfully upright.
    Squinting cautiously through the stained glass panels that framed the doorway, I fumbled with the bolt lock. I