Climate Change: A Nina Bannister Mystery (The Nina Bannister Mysteries Book 7) by T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese Page A
Authors: T'Gracie Reese, Joe Reese
Ads: Link
refuse to believe my murders are possible. So I self-publish, just so I can try to persuade people like Ms. Crossman to accept me.”
“Where can we get your books, Molly? Are they in any of the big bookstores?”
A shake of the head:
“They’re locked in a trunk in my attic. I don’t want people actually to read them, because––”
Nina finished her sentence:
“––because then people would know about the murder methods.”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” said Margot, “maybe just to get published you can use a more conventional murder method. A gunshot to the head, or a knife in the heart.”
“But that would be selling out! Everyone dies from a gunshot to the head or a knife to the heart!”
“There’s always poison,” Nina said, trying hard to make the situation better, and saying desperately whatever came into her mind.
But Molly Badger was having none of it.
“There, you just said it yourself! There’s always poison! Strychnine or arsenic or cyanide, cyanide or arsenic or strychnine! But my characters are important to me; I love them and I want to kill them in special ways!”
There was little to be said to that, and so the three women simply sat for a time.
Finally, Molly Badger asked:
“So—so can I stay?”
Margot nodded:
“Of course, you can stay.”
Nina:
“How can she stay, Margot? Harriet Crossman will be livid.”
“She won’t know about it. At least for a time.”
“How can you keep her from knowing about it?”
Margot straightened slightly and turned, pointing to the end of the south wing of the plantation.
“There’s room at the end of one of the upstairs corridors that’s set off by itself. We’ll sneak Molly into it. Molly, just try to stay out of sight for a time. We’ll have dinner sent up. Then, later on tonight, I’ll try to reason with Harriet. Surely, if you promise not to bother any of the real writers––”
“But I am a real writer!”
“I know but I mean one of the published writers––”
“But I am a published writer!”
“I know but I mean one of the By Other People Published writers––”
“But I would be one of the By Other People Published Writers if they would just––”
“Just believe in your way of killing people, I know.”
“Someday someone will believe it, I know they will!”
“And they will, my dear, I know they will. For now though, just go over there and walk through that far door. You see it?”
“Yes.”
“Go up the staircase to your immediate right. You’ll find a room at the top of the stairs. The door will be unlocked. Do you have bags?”
“I left them out by the main gate.”
“Well, I’ll have someone get them and bring them up to you.”
“You’re so kind! So kind!”
“I know. But now get off with you, before Harriet comes back.”
“Thank you! I will be published. And when I am published, the book will be dedicated to you!”
“That will be my honor. Now go.”
And with that, Molly Badger rose, straightened her shoulders and walked toward the building.
“I wonder,” said Nina quietly, watching the figure disappear, “what her murder method is?”
Margot shook her head:
“I don’t know. But you have to admire her. She believes in something.”
“Yes. Even though it’s only a murder method.”
“Don’t disparage murder methods. They’ve made many writers famous.”
“And generals.”
“Now you’re being cynical.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. Come on. I have to find somebody to get Molly’s bags. Then we have to see how dinner is coming.”
And they did.
Then they did.
CHAPTER SEVEN: FOOD, WARNINGS, AND SCREAMS AT MIDNIGHT
The Candles Plantation had grown to pride itself on many things since being taken over by Margot Gavin and her husband, Goldmann Bristow. But no aspect of the Bed and Breakfast experience was more important to them and to their entire staff, most of whom lived and worked near Abbeyport––than food.
The men and women of
“Where can we get your books, Molly? Are they in any of the big bookstores?”
A shake of the head:
“They’re locked in a trunk in my attic. I don’t want people actually to read them, because––”
Nina finished her sentence:
“––because then people would know about the murder methods.”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” said Margot, “maybe just to get published you can use a more conventional murder method. A gunshot to the head, or a knife in the heart.”
“But that would be selling out! Everyone dies from a gunshot to the head or a knife to the heart!”
“There’s always poison,” Nina said, trying hard to make the situation better, and saying desperately whatever came into her mind.
But Molly Badger was having none of it.
“There, you just said it yourself! There’s always poison! Strychnine or arsenic or cyanide, cyanide or arsenic or strychnine! But my characters are important to me; I love them and I want to kill them in special ways!”
There was little to be said to that, and so the three women simply sat for a time.
Finally, Molly Badger asked:
“So—so can I stay?”
Margot nodded:
“Of course, you can stay.”
Nina:
“How can she stay, Margot? Harriet Crossman will be livid.”
“She won’t know about it. At least for a time.”
“How can you keep her from knowing about it?”
Margot straightened slightly and turned, pointing to the end of the south wing of the plantation.
“There’s room at the end of one of the upstairs corridors that’s set off by itself. We’ll sneak Molly into it. Molly, just try to stay out of sight for a time. We’ll have dinner sent up. Then, later on tonight, I’ll try to reason with Harriet. Surely, if you promise not to bother any of the real writers––”
“But I am a real writer!”
“I know but I mean one of the published writers––”
“But I am a published writer!”
“I know but I mean one of the By Other People Published writers––”
“But I would be one of the By Other People Published Writers if they would just––”
“Just believe in your way of killing people, I know.”
“Someday someone will believe it, I know they will!”
“And they will, my dear, I know they will. For now though, just go over there and walk through that far door. You see it?”
“Yes.”
“Go up the staircase to your immediate right. You’ll find a room at the top of the stairs. The door will be unlocked. Do you have bags?”
“I left them out by the main gate.”
“Well, I’ll have someone get them and bring them up to you.”
“You’re so kind! So kind!”
“I know. But now get off with you, before Harriet comes back.”
“Thank you! I will be published. And when I am published, the book will be dedicated to you!”
“That will be my honor. Now go.”
And with that, Molly Badger rose, straightened her shoulders and walked toward the building.
“I wonder,” said Nina quietly, watching the figure disappear, “what her murder method is?”
Margot shook her head:
“I don’t know. But you have to admire her. She believes in something.”
“Yes. Even though it’s only a murder method.”
“Don’t disparage murder methods. They’ve made many writers famous.”
“And generals.”
“Now you’re being cynical.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. Come on. I have to find somebody to get Molly’s bags. Then we have to see how dinner is coming.”
And they did.
Then they did.
CHAPTER SEVEN: FOOD, WARNINGS, AND SCREAMS AT MIDNIGHT
The Candles Plantation had grown to pride itself on many things since being taken over by Margot Gavin and her husband, Goldmann Bristow. But no aspect of the Bed and Breakfast experience was more important to them and to their entire staff, most of whom lived and worked near Abbeyport––than food.
The men and women of
Similar Books
