Read 03 Murder by Mishap for Free Online Page A

outside, Mary was sitting on the weathered wooden bench with her face turned up to the sky, eyes closed.
    Just as Edna was thinking she’d lost her helper to the cozy warmth of the late-afternoon sun, Mary’s eyes popped open and she smiled. “This was one of my favorite spots when I visited old Mrs. Rabichek . We’d sit here and she’d tell me all about whatever new thing she was going to plant that year.”
    Old Mrs. Rabichek was “old crazy Mrs. Rabichek ,” Edna thought, for planting so many poisonous herbs and shrubs on the property. Of course, they could also be used as natural medicines, if one knew how to use them properly, and providing one could determine the strength of whatever it was one was concocting. Potency changes from season to season, depending on rainfall, sunshine and soil conditions. These thoughts brought back unpleasant memories from the previous fall when Edna had been a prime suspect in the death of her handyman, and she quickly dismissed her thoughts with a shudder as she held out a trowel to Mary.
    For the next half hour, the two women worked rapidly, filling tiny, organic pots with chive, parsley, dill and a variety of other herbs that had survived the winter beneath a blanket of straw. They were nearly finished and had a row of pots standing on the brick walk that bisected the garden when Edna heard the roar of an engine coming around the driveway. Hurrying to the front of the house, she was in time to watch a black-leather clad man dismount and remove his Darth Vader headgear. Goran Pittlani balanced the helmet on the seat of his motorcycle before coming forward to greet her.
    “Hey, Ms. Davies.”
    Instead of replying, she continued to stare in astonishment at his mode of transportation. “How are you going to carry my plants back on that thing,” she blurted after considering the vehicle for a minute.
    When Goran laughed, his eyes twinkled and vertical ridges deepened on either side of his mouth. “The saddlebags hold more than you’d think. I’ll manage. Show me what you got.”
    More than a little doubtful, she motioned with a twist of her head. “This way,” she said and led him around the corner to where Mary was swiping dirt off the knees of her pants, having finished pressing the last sprig of lemon thyme into a pot.
    Edna introduced them, and the two strangers stood eyeing each other while she studied the collection of newly-filled, little brown pots arrayed along the path. “Shall I put these in paper bags for you,” she asked, imagining dirt spilling out into the saddlebags.
    “That’d be great.” Goran took his eyes from Mary’s for the flicker of an instant.  “Thanks.” His gaze returned to the red-head, who was an inch taller than he, and he smiled.
    Amused that Mary seemed to be silently taking Goran’s measure as well, Edna went back to the mudroom and returned with a box of brown paper lunch bags. As she approached the pair, she heard Mary ask , “What sort of a name is Goran Pittlani , anyway?”
    The man shrugged and, without answering, noticed Edna approaching. With obvious relief, he held out a hand for the bags. “Let me help you.”
    “Mary and I can do this, but I haven’t had time to get the mint. Would you dig some up? It’s over there.” She motioned toward what looked like a wild, overgrown patch along the stone wall at the back of the yard. “You can use this.” She’d made a container out of a slightly larger and heavier paper bag by rolling down a couple of inches at the top.
    Grabbing up one of the trowels, Goran strode off to gather mint while Mary placed pots into bags and Edna carried them to the motorcycle. Before long he strode back around the house, reached his bike and, with a swift movement, flipped open one of the leather saddlebags and slipped his package inside. Without a word, he then accepted the small sacks Edna handed to him and stowed them away as well.
    When Mary came down the path and handed over the last of the