Death of a Wolfman (A Lily Gayle Lambert Mystery Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Susan Boles
“Right now I’ve got to go somewhere.”
“You’re going over there to try and pry some information about the autopsy out of Doc, aren’t you?” Mildred asked.
I refused to meet her eye. “Of course not.”
“Yes, you are. And I say go for it. Jim Hallowell had it bad for your mama way back there. You look a lot like her. Make it work for you, I say.”
“Why, Mildred. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to the library. I just want to take a look at the old records to get some dates on LizBeth’s people.”
All three of them scowled at me.
Mildred pointed a bony finger in my face. “You have to promise to tell us whatever Doc passes on to you about that werewolf guy. You’ll never hear the end of it if you hold back on us.”
I tossed my head and left them standing there.
CHAPTER THREE
As I rode my bike across the town square in the direction of the hospital, where the morgue was located in the basement, I noticed Miss Edna had changed the costumes of her garden gnomes. They no longer wore their Halloween finery, and since the next holiday didn’t roll around till Thanksgiving, she must have decided to dress them as characters from The Wizard of Oz ; at least it looked that way as I rolled toward the house.
Some sort of furry-looking piece encircled one gnome’s pointy head, making it look just a little deformed since the fur stretched across the top of the gnomes pointy hat. Another gnome sported a tin funnel atop his gnome hat, and the third wore a blue-and-white gingham dress with some unfortunate-looking brown yarn braided and wrapped around the edges of its hat to simulate Dorothy’s hair. I shook my head. Someone really ought to have a talk with Miss Edna about dressing up those gnomes in costumes. They looked ridiculous sitting out in the garden wearing those outrageous outfits.
Just as I passed Miss Edna’s gate, the lady in question stepped out onto her porch with an old-fashioned watering can in hand. Catching sight of me riding by, she shouted across the yard. “Lily Gayle Lambert! Just the person I needed to see. Come on up here and have a glass of sweet tea with me. I’ve got something I think you need to report to the sheriff.”
I groaned. But Miss Edna was eighty and lived alone. Hoping she hadn’t gotten so nutty in her old age that she’d mixed sweet tea in a watering can that no doubt contained traces of all kinds of plant-growth chemicals, I braked to a stop, got off the bike and rolled it up the front walk between carefully tended rows of dahlias.
Some of the other Garden Club ladies swore Miss Edna did some form of sorcery to make those dahlias so thick and beautiful every year. But then, since Miss Edna always won the flower show every year, those ladies had to come up with some reason why they just couldn’t beat the old woman no matter how hard they tried. Or how much they spied on Miss Edna’s gardening habits.
Propping my bicycle against the porch rail, I made sure it wasn’t touching any of the flowers. No point in getting the old lady riled up on the subject of lack of respect for other people’s property.
Up on the wide, gray-painted porch sat a wicker table with two chairs, and dead center on it was a tray with a pitcher of tea and two cut-crystal glasses. The old woman must have been on the lookout for someone to innocently wander past her house and I had drawn the dumb-luck card.
I waited till Miss Edna, dressed in one of her ever-present flowered dresses with her bird-watching binoculars hanging around her neck, had seated herself before sitting in the other chair. In Miss Edna’s world, those younger than the hostess did not sit first.
Accepting a glass of tea, I took a deep breath and plunged in. “So, Miss Edna, what was it you think needs to be reported to Ben?” I sipped carefully from the antique glass,
“You’re going over there to try and pry some information about the autopsy out of Doc, aren’t you?” Mildred asked.
I refused to meet her eye. “Of course not.”
“Yes, you are. And I say go for it. Jim Hallowell had it bad for your mama way back there. You look a lot like her. Make it work for you, I say.”
“Why, Mildred. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m going to the library. I just want to take a look at the old records to get some dates on LizBeth’s people.”
All three of them scowled at me.
Mildred pointed a bony finger in my face. “You have to promise to tell us whatever Doc passes on to you about that werewolf guy. You’ll never hear the end of it if you hold back on us.”
I tossed my head and left them standing there.
CHAPTER THREE
As I rode my bike across the town square in the direction of the hospital, where the morgue was located in the basement, I noticed Miss Edna had changed the costumes of her garden gnomes. They no longer wore their Halloween finery, and since the next holiday didn’t roll around till Thanksgiving, she must have decided to dress them as characters from The Wizard of Oz ; at least it looked that way as I rolled toward the house.
Some sort of furry-looking piece encircled one gnome’s pointy head, making it look just a little deformed since the fur stretched across the top of the gnomes pointy hat. Another gnome sported a tin funnel atop his gnome hat, and the third wore a blue-and-white gingham dress with some unfortunate-looking brown yarn braided and wrapped around the edges of its hat to simulate Dorothy’s hair. I shook my head. Someone really ought to have a talk with Miss Edna about dressing up those gnomes in costumes. They looked ridiculous sitting out in the garden wearing those outrageous outfits.
Just as I passed Miss Edna’s gate, the lady in question stepped out onto her porch with an old-fashioned watering can in hand. Catching sight of me riding by, she shouted across the yard. “Lily Gayle Lambert! Just the person I needed to see. Come on up here and have a glass of sweet tea with me. I’ve got something I think you need to report to the sheriff.”
I groaned. But Miss Edna was eighty and lived alone. Hoping she hadn’t gotten so nutty in her old age that she’d mixed sweet tea in a watering can that no doubt contained traces of all kinds of plant-growth chemicals, I braked to a stop, got off the bike and rolled it up the front walk between carefully tended rows of dahlias.
Some of the other Garden Club ladies swore Miss Edna did some form of sorcery to make those dahlias so thick and beautiful every year. But then, since Miss Edna always won the flower show every year, those ladies had to come up with some reason why they just couldn’t beat the old woman no matter how hard they tried. Or how much they spied on Miss Edna’s gardening habits.
Propping my bicycle against the porch rail, I made sure it wasn’t touching any of the flowers. No point in getting the old lady riled up on the subject of lack of respect for other people’s property.
Up on the wide, gray-painted porch sat a wicker table with two chairs, and dead center on it was a tray with a pitcher of tea and two cut-crystal glasses. The old woman must have been on the lookout for someone to innocently wander past her house and I had drawn the dumb-luck card.
I waited till Miss Edna, dressed in one of her ever-present flowered dresses with her bird-watching binoculars hanging around her neck, had seated herself before sitting in the other chair. In Miss Edna’s world, those younger than the hostess did not sit first.
Accepting a glass of tea, I took a deep breath and plunged in. “So, Miss Edna, what was it you think needs to be reported to Ben?” I sipped carefully from the antique glass,
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