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

your leg off, if you ’ re not
careful.”Helen
laid the diary down on a piece of pristine cotton fabric. “Should we go find
the receptionist, Mary, and see what Mr. Devry's calendar looks like?”
    “I ’ m supposed to take Mr. Devry ’ s statement in a case I ’ m working on,”Martha explained as
they walked back down the hall. “I guess I missed him because of a ‘to-do’that happened on
the way here. It slowed me down.”
    Helen ’ s eyebrows furrowed as she
recalled her last conversation with Mr. Devry. He hadn ’ t
mentioned any legal issues but then why would he? Devry had, if anything, been
extremely reserved and aloof, not exactly the talkative type the entire week
she had worked at The Grange.
    “Was Mary at her desk when you came in?”Helen asked.
    “No one was about.”
    “Let ’ s check. She may have returned.”
    As they walked down the corridor toward the reception area,
they chatted and laughed about being expats in England.
    At the end of the corridor, the somber coolness of The
Grange ’ s entrance hall was offset by the warm sunlight and
summer breeze floating in through the one open door to the main entrance.
Sounds of bees working diligently at their pollen duties on the hollyhocks near
the entrance mixed with the everyday noises wafting up from the village below.
Their eyes had to adjust as they came into the hall because the light from
outside made the dark walls and stone floor recede into shadows.
    Together their gazes fell upon water droplets splattered on
the floor and leading behind the semicircular reception desk. Some instinct
made Helen stoop down and touch them. As she brought her hand up toward her
dazzled eyes, both women gasped when they saw the red stain on her fingers.
    “Oh, my God.”Helen said, her voice raw and staccato.
    Their gazes locked in mutual horror and it was Martha who
first moved behind the reception desk. There, lying on the ground, was a
well-dressed man face down in a pool of blood.
    Martha looked up at Helen and said throatily, “Call the
police.”
    Helen dialed the emergency number with her phone. A man
answered, but before he could say anything, Helen blurted, “There ’ s
a man dead. There ’ s so much blood. Here, at The Grange and…and…he ’ s been murdered.”
     
     

 
     
    Chapter 5
     
    DETECTIVE CHIEF INSPECTOR MERRIAM JOHNS had been on the
force for almost twenty-five years. He never enjoyed dealing with distressed
women and he especially disliked distressed foreign women who had gone and
involved themselves in local crimes. As he saw it, they should keep their noses
clean when visiting foreign places and his village in particular.
    The more he imagined what the woman on the other end of the
phone must be like, the more his colicky self escalated into a temper. She was
definitely an American and that always meant an extra hassle. Americans were
usually one of two things: half were curious about every minute aspect of the
British police investigation experience as if it were a TV drama and all cops
in England were Sherlock Holmes; the other half loved to comment on how
American cops did things differently. He wished he had a pound for every time
some American had said, “ Well, we don ’ t
do it that way in America.”
    But these thoughts increased his irritation level which made
his temper rise. He remembered his doctor ’ s advice about
getting too worked up.
    “Not good for the old ticker,”Doc Whithersby had said while pointing towards his own heart or where
there should have been one.
    He wondered if Whithersby was serious about his ticker or if
he was insidious enough to make Johns question his own health. He and Whithersby
had been in a tight competition for Lilly Peterson, the bartender at The
Traveller ’ s Inn.
    Thoughts of Lilly soothed his cantankerous soul as Johns
turned his vehicle up the High Street. He pulled up in front of The Grange,
turned off the siren and got out of the car. The ambulance was right