Slip and Go Die (A Parson's Cove Mystery) Read Online Free Page A

ways of finding out what Esther was contriving. Other than torture, that is. I wasn’t quite sure what these ways were yet, but after a good night’s sleep, I would come up with something. One thing I knew: if Esther Flynn was out at Beulah’s, it was only for some self-centered purpose. It wouldn’t be to help an old woman, that’s for sure.
     

 
     
    Chapter Four
     
    The next morning the sun shone as if it had never shone a day in its life and was trying to make up for lost time. A person had to put on sunglasses just to look out the window. The world outside was white, white, white–dazzling with trillions of shimmering diamonds. There were snow banks six or seven feet high, stretching across the streets, and up the sides of houses. Grey ribbons of smoke drifted up from chimneys like lazy Indian smoke signals from days gone by. The leafless tree branches drooped and hung low, covered with snow and hoarfrost. It would have looked awe-inspiring and almost poetic if the thermometer outside my kitchen window hadn’t read minus twenty-eight degrees.
     
    One thing was for sure–my walkway was not going to clear itself. I pulled on as many layers of clothing as was physically possible and proceeded to go outside to shovel. Fortunately, the snowdrift by my back door hadn’t spread out; it had only drifted higher. It still made a neat curve around the corner of the house so I was able to open the door.
     
    I stood on my step and surveyed the house and yard behind mine. It was the Krueger house. After the old folks died, their daughter moved to the city and rented out the house every summer. Now it stood, looking cold, forlorn and abandoned. There was a trickle of smoke coming from the chimney. The local real estate company that looked after it, kept the furnace on at a very low heat so the water pipes wouldn’t freeze and explode. They learned that lesson after the first winter.
     
    There wasn’t any other sign of life. Had I imagined seeing someone trudging through the snow to the back door? It was a good thing I’d forgotten to tell Flori. She’s always complaining that I let my imagination run wild; too wild and too often, is what she claims.
     
    Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to check it out. First things first, however.
     
    It took all my strength and most of the morning to clear a narrow single pathway from my backyard to the front gate. The air was frigid, still and silent. I could hear Sam Goodfellow, who lives three houses down, huffing and puffing as he cleared his driveway.
     
    “Watch you don’t have a heart attack,” I yelled, when the huffing intensified.
     
    “You better watch it too,” he yelled back. “You ain’t no spring chicken either, Mabel.”
     
    After that, I kept my thoughts to myself and concentrated on the shovel.
     
    By ten, the snow plough had opened Main Street and most of the side streets. The snow left behind on the sidewalk in front of my house was at least six feet high. If they thought I was going to tackle that with my small snow shovel they were sadly mistaken. I’d climb to the top and slide down the other side on my bum, if I had to.
     
    I was sitting and trying to warm up with a hot cup of coffee when Bob phoned.
     
    “I can work on your furnace now, Mabel.”
     
    “You’ve dug Beulah’s grave already?”
     
    “Nope. Ground’s too frozen. Took all morning to clear away the snow. Got the heaters all set up now. It’s gonna take a few days to thaw that ground.”
     
    “Have you heard when the funeral is?”
     
    “Nope. Reg says there’s no rush with the grave. Beulah’s keepin’ nice and cool in the mortuary. ‘Parently they’re having trouble locating her family.”
     
    “That’s because she doesn’t have any. Doesn’t Reg know that?”
     
    “ ’Pears not. If you know anything about her, maybe you ought to give Reg a call.”
     
    “Sounds like a good idea. As long as he doesn’t hang up on me. By the way, the back door of my shop