Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) Read Free Page A

could see that my visitor was tall, but he wasn’t familiar. I opened the door a tiny crack and saw a police car on the street.
    “Yes?”
    “Miss Prentice.” A disheveled file was thrust through the crack. “You left your papers on a chair in the library.”
    “Oh, Officer Perkins, it’s you. Thanks.”
    He bent over until his nose almost touched mine. I could have sworn he sniffed.
    “You all by yourself, ma’am? I thought I heard voices.”
    “Nope, just me. I live alone—well, there’s my mother’s cat around here somewhere.” I gestured back over my shoulder.
    Perkins glanced over my head into the hall and gave me a skeptical look. “Um, did the paramedic explain that you’re not supposed to have any alcohol? Just in case it’s a concussion, you know?”
    “Don’t worry, Officer, I don’t drink.” I pulled myself straighter and fumbled in my coat pocket for the handkerchief Dennis had given me. “And I know all about first aid and—honk—things.” I wiped the tears from my face and looked around, realizing for the first time that I was still wearing my coat and hadn’t turned any lights on.
    “I’ll be going up to bed now,” I announced, and snapped on the porch light.
    “Yes, ma’am, if you’re sure you’re okay.”
    “I am, I assure you.” I jutted out my chin.
    Perkins turned.
    “Thank you for bringing the papers,” I called after him. “I needed them.”
    As he sped away, I turned on the hall light. And the lamp in the front sitting room. And the light over the staircase. And the bedside lamp, as well as the one in the bathroom.
    It wouldn’t do to have the city police department thinking the English teacher was sitting alone in the dark, drinking. Such a thing could be all over town by sunup.
    ***
    “Oh, this is useless!”
    I sat up in bed. Only minutes before, I had been desperately exhausted, longing for sleep. Now I couldn’t turn off the movie that played inside my eyelids.
    Why did I go to the library tonight? Was I really such a creature of habit? If I’d stayed and corrected papers here at home, my head wouldn’t be hurting, I’d be able to sleep, and I wouldn’t be wearing this huge bandage.
    But Marguerite would still be dead.
    Marguerite dead. I couldn’t believe it. I closed my eyes, picturing that earnest child with the perpetually anxious expression on her pale face, the unruly brown hair tied at the back of her neck with a ribbon, and the long earrings that bounced as she trembled in uncontrollable enthusiasm over some silly thing or other. It was always something dramatic with Marguerite.
    Pig Latin, for instance. To my other students, the silly language had been a brief amusement, a mental toy to enjoy and cast aside. Marguerite, as always, overdid it, writing her name in pig Latin on her books, circulating notes in it, and even doing her homework in it. So much enthusiasm, so much energy—and now she was dead. How could it have happened? She’d seemed so healthy.
    I’d tripped over Marguerite in the copy room. I knew CPR. If I had been less clumsy, might I have been in time to save her? Maybe just a few minutes earlier . . .
    “This has got to stop!” I declared aloud. “Any more of this and I’ll go crazy.” I glanced around the room. “Sam? Come here.”
    From his curled position on Aunt Clarissa’s hand-braided rug, Sam stared at me, his eyes reflecting silver in the moonlight. He tilted his head questioningly.
    “That’s right,” I reassured him, patting the comforter beside me. “You can sleep up here. But just for tonight.” I made a kissing noise.
    Sam’s leap was graceful, but his four-point landing caused the bedsprings to creak in protest. Even before he curved himself into a ball at my side, his motor-like purring had begun. I settled back, sinking into the sedative rhythm and whispering my gratitude to heaven for the blessing of sleep. My eyes drooped, closed. There was no movie this time, just soothing blackness.
    I awoke at