Two Birds with One Stone (A Marsden-Lacey Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read Free

happy
trails. Not at my expense anyway, and why Florida? Why does everyone want to go
to Florida? It ’ s hot and everyone ends up burned. In this
case quite literally.”
    “You know it ’ s not about the wedding,
Mother.”
    “Oh, dear, what exactly is it about then?”
    “Seeing your grandkids, maybe. Seeing your children
possibly. I don ’ t know, Mother. Maybe seeing your family.”
    This last fuming howl touched Helen. Timothy ’ s
sweet, six-year-old, dirt-encrusted face swam up from her memory. She saw him
again as he was the day she found him sitting in the garden digging for worms.
Remembering how she had pulled Timothy into her arms, the feel of his small
neck against her cheek and the soft smell of sunshine, fresh air and little boy
mingling together made an elixir for maternal love. The memory hung there for a
moment and Helen ’ s tone shifted.
    She said gently, “Darling, I ’ ll need
some time. You do understand? Don ’ t you, Timothy? I need
some time. Of course I want more than anything to see all of you. I ’ ll let you know. Give me a few days. Fiona and George,”she said these last
two names with a definite hint of irritation, “aren ’ t
marrying for another two weeks. I ’ ve got time to think it
through still.”
    “Oh, all right, Mom. We want to see you and I know Christine
and Peter are planning to be there. It wouldn ’ t be the
same, you know, without you.”This last part faded away to a small crack in his voice.
    Helen quickly added, “I ’ ll let you
know, dear. Don ’ t worry. It ’ ll all be fine. I love you, Timmy. Let ’ s
talk later. Bye for now.”With a forced attempt to finish with a bright last note she touched “end”on the phone.
    “Hmph.”Someone cleared her throat. Helen spun around to see a
conventionally-dressed, curvy but short woman in her late forties. Red hair was
piled on the top of her head slightly askew with springing whispies flying out
in every direction. It was as if she had been in a wind storm or had been
wrestling with something, mused Helen.
    “ Hello. I ’ m sorry
to interrupt, but there isn ’ t a receptionist at the desk.
My name is Martha Littleword. I ’ m with Partridge, Sims
& Cuthbirt. I ’ m trying to locate Mr. Louis Devry, the
curator?”This
last bit was said with an apologetic, upward rise in her tone.
    “Oh, yes, of course, I ’ m Helen Ryes. I ’ m the book conservator,”Helen returned. “He just stepped out saying he wouldn ’ t
be back for the day. He seemed a bit preoccupied. Is there anything I might
help you with?”
    “Well first, I ’ d like to say it ’ s always nice to run into a fellow American,”Martha said with a
warm smile.
    “How nice. What part of the States are you from?”Helen asked
returning the smile with an outstretched hand which Martha took giving it a
firm shake.
    It was like finding an old friend in the last place you
expected.
    “Everyone calls me Martha, by the way. I ’ m
from Arkansas, the northwest corner, a small town called Grace. What about you?”
    “No! Me too. Ever heard of Evening Shade?”Helen asked her
smile now brighter than before.
    “On the other side of Conway? I do know it. Small world.”Martha said giving
her head a little shake. “So, do you work here at The Grange?”
    “Not exactly,”Helen said. “I ’ m a private contractor. I assess and
provide conservation work on books or in this case, entire libraries. The
Grange has one of the best libraries in England representing nineteenth-century
authors. I was thrilled to be offered the chance to sniff around the place and
work on this collection. One never knows what might turn up in these old
collections.”
    Helen showed Martha two of the books she was currently
cleaning. One was a first-edition poetry book by Percy Bysshe Shelley titled “Queen
Mab.”The
other was a diary of a navy admiral stationed in Singapore during the early
nineteenth century.
    “I ’ ve probably been boring you. I ’ ll talk