Éclair Case of Murder: A Culinary Cozy Mystery (A Rosie Kale Culinary Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Leigh Selfman
Authors: Leigh Selfman
Ads: Link
of the crisis center call. But before I got the chance, I heard a car screech up on the street behind me.
I sighed miserably and turned around, expecting to see Detective Sanders or another member of the San Coronado police department. But when I looked back I saw that it was Patsy Blaire. Newswoman and nemesis.
She came at me, holding her microphone out like a weapon.
“Is it true you’re stalking this family? That your guilt over Mrs. Wright’s suicide has sent you over the deep end?” Patsy was speaking in a voice filled with a mixture of false concern and accusation as her cameraman hurried after her, filming our confrontation.
“What no! How did you even…”
“Police scanner,” she smiled. “Apparently Mr. Wright’s nanny just called and reported you.”
I looked towards the house and saw Violet peering out of an upstairs window.
“How can you torment this family in their time of grief?” Patsy continued. “No matter how guilty you may feel.”
I shook my head and walked around her, hoping to get out of there before the police arrived. As bad as it would look to be filmed running away on TV, it would definitely look worse to actually be arrested on TV.
I just really wanted off the Wright property, asap. The only problem was Patsy was blocking my path.
“Just one comment,” she said.
“No,” I mumbled as I tried to push past her, in between the garbage cans. But unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room and I knocked into one of the large plastic bins, tipping it over and spilling trash everywhere. As I tried to reach for it, I fell to the ground on top of it and dropped my large tote bag next to me.
As I started to get up, red-faced with humiliation, I heard Patsy gasp.
“Is that a gun?” she cried.
“What? No!” I said. I looked to see what she was talking about. But as I quickly gathered the belongings which had spilled out of my purse, I saw one of Laila’s fake prop guns laying on the rocky ground. I quickly grabbed it and shoved it back into my tote.
“It’s fake,” I muttered under my breath as I then gathered up the empty wine bottles and old fruit that had spilled out of the garbage bin and onto driveway. I stuffed it all back into the big rubber can and set it all back upright. Then I walked, in as dignified a manner as I could, to my car. Which wasn’t very—considering my uneven hair, my limping, sore legs and my garbage-strewn clothes.
In the background, I heard Patsy narrating my escape and making me sound very much like a crazed stalker.
Chapter 26
I drove off, shaken, comforting myself that at least those who knew me, would know I wasn’t a nut. Or not too much of one, anyway. And at least I’d gotten out of there before the police arrived.
Blaring sirens signaled their immediate approach and as I drove off I saw a black and white police cruiser racing up to the Wright house in my rear view.
Whew, close call, I thought.
But at least I’d gotten what I came for. I now knew that Helen Wright definitely hadn’t made that call to the crisis hotline. Her murderer did, and was obviously setting it up to look like a suicide.
For a moment, I considered going to the police station right then and insisting that Sanders hear me out, but the clock on the dashboard told me I didn’t have time. Casey was going to be at my house within the hour to pick me up. And I really had to do something about my uneven hair.
I parked the car and hurried into Nana’s condo as quickly as I could on my painful legs.
“Nana!” I called out, hoping she’d be around to give my hair a quick trim before the party. But she was nowhere in sight.
Thankfully she had laid out the vintage Bill Blass silver sequin evening gown that she’d promised to lend me, along with a sparkly little clutch to go with it. I took both items and headed out to the guest house. I was hoping to find Laila there—not that I actually trusted her to cut my hair. But at this
I sighed miserably and turned around, expecting to see Detective Sanders or another member of the San Coronado police department. But when I looked back I saw that it was Patsy Blaire. Newswoman and nemesis.
She came at me, holding her microphone out like a weapon.
“Is it true you’re stalking this family? That your guilt over Mrs. Wright’s suicide has sent you over the deep end?” Patsy was speaking in a voice filled with a mixture of false concern and accusation as her cameraman hurried after her, filming our confrontation.
“What no! How did you even…”
“Police scanner,” she smiled. “Apparently Mr. Wright’s nanny just called and reported you.”
I looked towards the house and saw Violet peering out of an upstairs window.
“How can you torment this family in their time of grief?” Patsy continued. “No matter how guilty you may feel.”
I shook my head and walked around her, hoping to get out of there before the police arrived. As bad as it would look to be filmed running away on TV, it would definitely look worse to actually be arrested on TV.
I just really wanted off the Wright property, asap. The only problem was Patsy was blocking my path.
“Just one comment,” she said.
“No,” I mumbled as I tried to push past her, in between the garbage cans. But unfortunately, there wasn’t enough room and I knocked into one of the large plastic bins, tipping it over and spilling trash everywhere. As I tried to reach for it, I fell to the ground on top of it and dropped my large tote bag next to me.
As I started to get up, red-faced with humiliation, I heard Patsy gasp.
“Is that a gun?” she cried.
“What? No!” I said. I looked to see what she was talking about. But as I quickly gathered the belongings which had spilled out of my purse, I saw one of Laila’s fake prop guns laying on the rocky ground. I quickly grabbed it and shoved it back into my tote.
“It’s fake,” I muttered under my breath as I then gathered up the empty wine bottles and old fruit that had spilled out of the garbage bin and onto driveway. I stuffed it all back into the big rubber can and set it all back upright. Then I walked, in as dignified a manner as I could, to my car. Which wasn’t very—considering my uneven hair, my limping, sore legs and my garbage-strewn clothes.
In the background, I heard Patsy narrating my escape and making me sound very much like a crazed stalker.
Chapter 26
I drove off, shaken, comforting myself that at least those who knew me, would know I wasn’t a nut. Or not too much of one, anyway. And at least I’d gotten out of there before the police arrived.
Blaring sirens signaled their immediate approach and as I drove off I saw a black and white police cruiser racing up to the Wright house in my rear view.
Whew, close call, I thought.
But at least I’d gotten what I came for. I now knew that Helen Wright definitely hadn’t made that call to the crisis hotline. Her murderer did, and was obviously setting it up to look like a suicide.
For a moment, I considered going to the police station right then and insisting that Sanders hear me out, but the clock on the dashboard told me I didn’t have time. Casey was going to be at my house within the hour to pick me up. And I really had to do something about my uneven hair.
I parked the car and hurried into Nana’s condo as quickly as I could on my painful legs.
“Nana!” I called out, hoping she’d be around to give my hair a quick trim before the party. But she was nowhere in sight.
Thankfully she had laid out the vintage Bill Blass silver sequin evening gown that she’d promised to lend me, along with a sparkly little clutch to go with it. I took both items and headed out to the guest house. I was hoping to find Laila there—not that I actually trusted her to cut my hair. But at this
Similar Books
