Éclair and Present Danger Read Online Free Page A

living on the same street for years. Bart was an intelligent man. If his help was sought for something bogus, he’d know it in an instant.
    Then again, she
had
just gotten a cat. Maybe he could help with Lovey . . .
    Or maybe she could use him as a sounding board on what to do with her life in the weeks and months to come . . .
    Better yet, maybe she could ask for his help in planting a flower bed outside the Victorian she shared with Mr. Nelson. After all, she had time on her hands now that the bakery was gone . . .
    She made her way up Bart’s driveway and over to his front porch, the slow, steady breath she needed finally finding its way through her lungs.
    Help him feel needed . . .
    Let him know we all care about him . . .
    Encourage him to live for Ethel . . .
    The plan made perfect sense. Now, all she had to do was execute it.
    She knocked on the navy blue door and waited. When he didn’t answer, she knocked a second and third time.
    No answer.
    Double-checking the driveway for Bart’s car, Winnie tried the doorknob and found it unlocked.
    â€œBart?” she called through the now-open door. “Are you here? It’s me—Winnie.”
    When there was still no response, she raised her voice a bit louder in the event he’d fallen asleep in his favorite chair. “Bart? It’s Winnie. I have your special peach pie from Ethel.”
    She stepped all the way into the foyer and closed the door, the click of the lock echoing eerily in a house that was far too quiet.
    â€œBart?” Slowly, step-by-step, she made her way down the hallway and into the living room, her gaze skirting the mantel and its plethora of framed photographs artfully arranged around a glass-fronted display case before finally landing on Bart’s empty chair.
    An odd sense of unease skittered up her spine as she returned to the hallway and continued toward the rear of the house, checking the study and the dining room as she passed.
    Maybe he was in the kitchen . . .
    Or sitting out back on the patio . . .
    â€œBart? It’s me . . . W—”
    Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she froze, her name morphing into a bloodcurdling scream even Mr. Nelson was sure to hear.

Chapter 3

    B
reathe in . . .
    Breathe out . . .
    Breathe in . . .
    Breathe out . . .
    Winnie pulled the brown paper bag from her mouth and did her best to muster a reassuring smile for Bridget. “I’m okay. Really.”
    â€œYou say a
willow
was over his face?” Mr. Nelson shouted from his observation station at the front window. Having secured a prime location to watch the comings and goings of the Silver Lake Police Department and the medical examiner’s office, Winnie’s friend showed no sign of moving anytime in the next century.
    â€œA
pillow
, Mr. Nelson. A pillow.” She dropped the bag onto the coffee table and joined her elderly friend in his quest to be in the know. It took a moment, but Winnie managed to pick out the detective who’d grilled her for information upon his arrival on the scene.
    â€œWhy in God’s name would Bart hold a pillow over his own face?”
    â€œHe wouldn’t,” Bridget rasped. “Someone else would.”
    â€œBridget?” Winnie glanced over her shoulder toward the couch she’d just vacated. “Are you okay?”
    â€œHow can I be okay? How can any of us be okay with a—a
murderer
on the loose?” Bridget looked down at her Lovey-topped lap and closed her eyes. “The elderly make perfect victims because we aren’t strong enough to fight back. Particularly those of us with health ailments.”
    â€œStill thinking you need a scope done?” Mr. Nelson asked.
    Bridget peeked through her lashes then quickly closed them when she saw that she had Winnie’s concern. “I’m
convinced
I do, Parker.