Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) by Dane McCaslin Page A

wanted by the police.’
    ‘Wanted by the police? Are you? Have you told them that yet?’ The innocent look on my face could have rivaled Bambi’s. ‘Miss Lucinda, did you know that Andy was wanted by the police when you hired him?’
    By this time, Andy was sputtering, he was so mad. How in the world had I thought him good-looking, even for a second, I wondered, as I took in his flaring nostrils and the blotchy redness that now colored his face.
    ‘You know good and well what I mean, you – you – you out-of-stater! Don’t go putting words in my mouth! Uncle Joe, just what did she tell you?’ He swung around to face his uncle.
    Skinny Joe shrugged, the movement causing a ripple to cross his flabby chest. ‘She said you were wanted out front. I told you, you came out here. End of story.’
    The ruckus was causing us some unwanted attention. Two of the officers who were standing along the room’s perimeter began to move in our direction.
    ‘Oh, great, just what we needed: another visit from the fuzz,’ I murmured to no one in particular. Miss Lucinda gave me an odd glance, but kept her own counsel.
    Two of Manchester’s finest approached our little group, their faces set on ‘bland’ as they looked us over. Finally, the shorter officer, the one whose eyebrows were as thick as newly hatched caterpillars in the spring, turned to Miss Lucinda.
    ‘Ma’am, are these young men bothering you?’ Now that was a question I hadn’t expected to hear. I camouflaged a small laugh behind a cough.
    ‘No, Officer, they’re not. Actually, they are friends of the – of the deceased. You might want to ask them a few questions about this evening, if you haven’t done so already.’ Miss Lucinda continued ministering to Miss Bea’s shoulders.
    ‘Is this true?’ The taller of the pair, the one with the pale blue eyes and hair like cotton wool, looked at Andy and Bert with an interested look on his face.
    ‘Well, yes, it is,’ admitted Andy. Bert just stood there.
    I’ve often heard the expression, “like a bump on a log,” but it had never really occurred to me exactly what that meant. After observing Bert’s behavior, though, I think I figured it out: bumps on a log don’t move, that’s true, but they also don t go away. If Andy had a hand in this, then so did Bert. The two were joined at the hip.

Chapter Twelve
    I had apparently struck a nerve of Andy’s with my glib twisting of his words. What was in his background that he didn’t want known? Well, I’d leave the Manchester PD to worry about that one; I had Miss Lucinda and Miss Bea to deal with.
    The two officers invited Andy to join them for a chat, and I watched as Bert began drifting in that direction as well. Two for the price of one, I thought, as a chair was pulled out for him as well. Andy wasn’t happy about it; the daggers he was shooting in Bert’s direction were as murderous as any I had ever seen.
    ‘Jo?’ I dragged my eyes from the boys back to Leslie, whose hand was tugging at my sleeve. ‘Shouldn’t one of us go and check on Lily? Maybe make sure that she’s all right?’
    Good grief. I had forgotten all about the girl. ‘I’ll go,’ I said, thrusting my chair back from the table. I was beginning to feel like a glorified babysitter.
    I sped across the dining area to the hallway. The door to the women’s dressing room was open; I paused – had we left it that way? I couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling that one of us had closed it behind us. Oh, well; Lily is a big girl, I thought. (Of course, I meant as in ‘grown up’, not ‘big’ in build!)
    The ‘big girl’ wasn’t in the dressing room. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else that I hastily checked, a sense of panic rising in my throat. At least, I hoped that it was panic and not my last meal making its way back to the surface. This evening was not only going downhill, it was going subterranean. And fast.
    As my mother is wont to say, ‘It’s going to hell in a