Stay Tuned for Murder by Mary Kennedy Page B

The idea of Mildred being a tease was about as likely as her becoming a Hooters girl.
    Nick grinned. “You know I didn’t mean that kind of a tease. I meant maybe she’s just trying to drum up some interest in the time capsule. After all, when does a librarian get a chance to be the star? She probably knows more about Cypress Grove history than anyone else in town. This could be her big moment to shine. Or maybe we’re both reading too much into this.”
    “We’ll see,” I said grudgingly. I sat back in my chair while Lori slapped my roasted veggie platter in front of me. It was loaded with eggplant, leeks, and three kinds of sweet peppers.
    “Watch out for the tray, hon. It’s right out of the oven,” she said in a bored tone. “It’s really hot.”
    I poked my dinner with my fork, spearing a piece of eggplant .
    Really hot? No worries on that score, hon.
    It was barely lukewarm.
     
    It was dusk when I arrived back at the town house and spotted Ted Rollins arranging the sprinklers on the front lawn of the Seabreeze Inn. A dozen or so guests were milling around on the wide-planked porch, enjoying the night air and the complimentary wine-and-cheese party that Ted hosts every evening.
    The way Ted keeps up the place, you’d think Architectural Digest was planning to use the Seabreeze for a photo shoot. It’s a charming Victorian with a bright yellow exterior and glossy white gingerbread trim, and it looks more like a private house than a B and B. Colorful bougainvillea and night-blooming jasmine bushes in the garden make it smell like paradise. Baskets of lush ferns hang from the rafters, and porcelain pots of lipstick pink primrose are artfully arranged around the chairs. It’s on the historic register and always looks camera ready.
    Ted hurried over when he saw me crossing the lawn, gathered me into a brotherly hug, and kissed me on the cheek. Ted would like to be more than a friend—what can I say? He’s the proverbial nice guy, the kind your mom and all your friends wish you would marry. Lola always says that if I don’t marry Ted, she will. I think she’s only half kidding. Tall and ruggedly handsome with sandy brown hair and a terrific smile, he’s quite a catch, by anyone’s standards.
    Can I help it if I’m attracted to bad boys, the kind the nuns always warned me about? The kind of men who exude danger and excitement (think Rafe Martino) and can make my pulse jump with one sultry look?
    Ted and Rafe are on opposite ends of the continuum. Ted is steadfast, loyal, and reliable. Rafe is none of those things. Rafe is the kind of guy who exudes heat, magic, and raw masculinity. He’s wild and unpredictable, and you feel like anything can happen when you’re around him.
    Rafe is the guy who makes my heart go pitter-patter right before he breaks it. Ted is a warm and cuddly big-brother type who brings me homemade soup when I’m sick, bought a doggie birthday cake for Pugsley, and offered to power wash my deck.
    Naturally, I picked Rafe over Ted. Go figure.
    “Maggie, good to see you! Have a glass of white wine,” Ted urged. He took my arm and steered me toward the guests mingling on the front porch. “Terrible news about Althea,” he said, his voice laced with concern. “It must have been very hard on you, doing today’s show. I happened to catch it. You were wonderful, as always. It was a beautiful tribute to her.”
    “Thanks, Ted,” I said, giving his hand a little squeeze. See what I mean? Ted listens to my radio show every single day and compliments me on my performance. The only other person who routinely listens to my show every day is Lola. And Lola doesn’t count, because after all, she’s my mother.
    “Hey, Maggie, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Ted said, breaking into my thoughts. He waved at a tall guy in his late forties and motioned for him to join us.
    “Trevor! Come on over here for a sec. I need to talk to you.” The man put down his drink, and Ted did the