Read Artful Dodger (Maggie Kean Mis-Adventures) for Free Online Page A

designs tied about her waist or slipped under the lapels of a blazer...a swatch of color that quickly became her signature.
    Shaking off the memories, I dragged myself back to the car. The meeting started in forty-five minutes, just enough time to drive leisurely back down the pass and arrive at the Boyers’ house a comfortable ten minutes late.
    No doubt my tardiness would infuriate Preston and Cassie...a little splash of sunlight in an otherwise bleak day.

    “I should have known you’d take this lightly and sashay in here whenever you felt like it.”
    “Get a grip, Preston. I’ve never sashayed anywhere in my life. Arriving fifteen minutes late is hardly cause for a lecture. What are you going to do, ground me?” Admittedly, I was a few minutes later than I originally planned because sudden hunger pangs had me pulling into a store for frozen yogurt and then running home to change into more comfortable clothes.  I couldn’t stand another minute in the funeral outfit.  I probably shouldn’t have taken the time to stop by the house, but Preston and Cassie’s anger was well worth the extra few minutes. Those two were chomping at the bit for the inheritance money Elizabeth had promised them. It was a miracle they hadn’t vaulted across the desk where Mr. Hawthorne now stood and torn the will from his hands.
    I held out my hand and introduced myself to the silver-haired gentleman.  Tall and lean, with a pencil-thin mustache arching over his upper lip like an older Clark Gable, Mr. Hawthorne graciously stood and reached across the desktop to clasp my hand.
    “It is very nice to meet you, Ms. Kean,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly with just a hint of a British accent. “Elizabeth spoke of you often.”
    I smiled. “She was a wonderful lady.”
    “Yes, she was. I will miss her tremendously.” He cleared his throat and looked sternly around the room like a disappointed parent. “I’m sure we all will.”
    Preston nodded somberly and Cassie dabbed at nonexistent tears. I wanted to run from this phony display of affection, but before I could leave, Mr. Hawthorne gestured towards the chairs circling the desk.
    “Why don’t we all take a seat and begin.” Mr. Hawthorne picked up a file and walked around the desk. He faced Preston. “I appreciate the offer,” he explained, “but I don’t feel it’s appropriate to use Elizabeth’s desk at this time. I’m sure we will all feel more comfortable sitting together here.”   Swiveling in his chair, he looked toward the back of the room. “Mr. Villari, will you be joining us?”
    I spun around in shock. Detective Villari stood silhouetted in the sunlight streaming through the large window. Lounging against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, his arms were crossed and his right foot hooked over his left ankle.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Police business.”
    I turned back to Mr. Hawthorne. “Is this normal procedure? Do detectives usually attend the reading of a will?”
    “There’s nothing normal about murder, Ms. Kean,” Villari said from behind. He walked toward me, pulled out a chair, and with a flick of his hand invited me to sit down. I ignored him and moved to a chair across from Mr. Hawthorne.
    “Unless someone objects,” Villari said, addressing the group, a hint of mockery in his tone, “I will stay to hear the will.” He glanced at me. “Do you object, Ms. Kean?”
    “Only to the feeling that you’re lurking around every corner.”
    “Are you afraid I might pounce?” he murmured.
    Mr. Hawthorne cleared his throat before I could answer. I shot Villari an irritated look, but he simply lifted an eyebrow, apparently amused by the exchange.
    “Could we get on with this?” Preston said impatiently.
    “Why the big hurry, Preston?” I asked. “Expecting to make a large bank deposit this afternoon?”
    He huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf before sputtering, “Not at all. I’m simply trying to expedite matters to make it