Ornaments of Death Read Online Free Page B

consider it an honor.”
    â€œLia!” Madge Sweeny called, approaching us from the back.
    Madge Sweeny was a much-admired client. She was smart and savvy and hadn’t taken a wooden nickel in a year or eight. She was a dedicated collector of anything related to cocker spaniels, and a new member of our kayaking group. She joined our little cluster, and I introduced her to Ian.
    â€œI’m so glad to see you,” Madge said to Lia, leaning in for a butterfly kiss. “I want to organize a spa day event for my daughter-in-law’s Christmas present.”
    â€œWhat a fun idea!” Lia said.
    As the two women fell into a discussion of whether a seaweed treatment was a better option than a mud bath, Ian and I separated ourselves a bit.
    â€œI worry about Becca being so alone,” Ian said. He laughed and looked embarrassed. “That’s me talking, not Becca. The truth is she’s pretty introverted. I keep trying to get her more involved in the world, and she keeps telling me she’s happy the way she is, that she’s perfectly content keeping her own company.” He held up his hand. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s a delightful young woman, very friendly. When you meet her, you won’t have any sense that she might be feeling awkward. It’s just that she prefers quieter gatherings to big parties.”
    â€œIs that why she skipped tonight?”
    â€œNo.” He laughed again, this one self-deprecating. “She’s in Nova Scotia, monitoring the hibernation habits of clams, if you can believe it. I won’t see her myself until Monday.”
    â€œYesterday when you said she was in Rocky Point because there were a lot of clams around, I thought you meant she liked eating them!”
    â€œHardly.”
    â€œShe studies them,” I said, understanding.
    â€œDevotedly.”
    â€œThere are worse things to be devoted to.”
    â€œA long, long list. Still, how a girl from Oxfordshire got interested in clams, well, that’s a separate conversation.”
    â€œHow did she?”
    â€œI have no idea. One day, when she was about fifteen, she simply announced that she was going to research mollusks. In case you’re worried that this aberration might be genetic, I can reassure you. Becca is the first person in our family to earn a PhD in mollusks. In fact, we have no history involving mollusks whatsoever.”
    I laughed. “That’s hysterical, Ian.”
    â€œPerhaps she’s a changeling. I simply can’t explain it.”
    â€œThere’s no need. Our family’s tent is large enough to include everyone of all persuasions, mollusk lovers included.”
    â€œWhat a relief!” he said, grinning.
    â€œSpeaking of your schedule, if you’re not heading to Boston until Monday, how about dinner tomorrow? Or is that when you and Lia are going out?”
    â€œThat’s right. Otherwise, you know I’d love it.”
    â€œHow about brunch, then, just the two of us?”
    He liked the idea, and we firmed up plans.
    â€œThere’s a concert tomorrow evening at the Congregational church next door,” I said. “Ty and I are going to hear Fred sing. You met him, right? One of my appraisers? It’s a Christmas program, starting at eight. Maybe Lia would like to go, or you’re more than welcome to join us on your own.”
    â€œThank you, Josie. Probably the timing won’t work, but I’ll let you know.”
    Wes Smith, the reporter for Rocky Point’s local paper, the Seacoast Star, approached us, along with his wife of a few months, Maggie. Wes was a buddy, hardworking, diligent, and reliable. Maggie was my banker, the assistant manager of Rocky Point Community Bank. She was cute as a bug, a pixie with curly brown hair and freckles.
    â€œI heard about how you two are connected,” Wes said, after I’d introduced them to Ian. “This will be an inspirational human interest