Read Bernadine Fagan - Nora Lassiter 01 - Murder by the Old Maine Stream for Free Online

‘You wanted in big-time, didn’t you? This has to be done. There’s no other way.’”
    “Anything else?” Nick asked.
    “They mumbled the next part. Something about a meeting. I heard the words woods and stream.”
    Suddenly, she gasped. “I should have kept Nora from going along that trail, shouldn’t I? I never thought of the stream. She could have been killed.”
    “Don’t go there, Ida. Nora is fine.”
    “That’s all I remember, Nick.”
    “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Ida. Real sorry. My mistake.” He ran his hand through his hair. “From where you were standing could you guess their heights?”
    Ida pursed her lips. “I was sitting on one of the step stools looking for a Sue Gafton mystery. Don’t know why they put the good authors down so low. Anyway, I think he was tall, just above the second shelf down from the top. His voice came through the Ken Follet section.”
    Trimble, standing off to the side in the small room, smirked. But what Ida said had merit, and Nick seemed to realize it, too. He looked at Trimble and said, “Check it out. Take a tape measure with you.”
    “What’s a Ken Follet section?” skinny Trimble asked.
    “He’s an author. Ask Margaret,” Nick said bruskly. “Wait and take Ida to see exactly where she was sitting.”
    The disgruntled deputy nodded. “Ay-uh.”
    Ida announced, “Hannah and Agnes can come with me, then we’ll all go to Hannah’s. Nora can follow. We’ll plan the party.”
    Nick thanked Ida for her information.
    I kissed them all good-bye. Hannah whispered, “I’m so proud of our Ida. Hasn’t she been wonderful?”
    “Yes. Wonderful,” I said. And I meant it.
    “We all should have paid more attention to her. Like the sheriff, I’m sorry we didn’t.”
    It was pouring by the time we got into the car for the drive home.
    * * *
    Hannah’s house was the largest Lassiter home in Silver Stream, a sprawling colonial that started life as a cabin and grew over the years as the family grew. The child in me remembered the bigness. The adult saw beyond that. Here was something passed down through generations by folks who had broken away from the modern world and ventured far from the ease of the towns. Into the woods. Into the unknown.
    I came from hardy stock.
    The outrageous aroma of apple pies and blueberry turnovers warming in the oven wafted through the house. The dining room table was laden with all good things—shrimp with cocktail sauce, Swedish meatballs, chicken Marsala, lobster salad, a cauldron of beef barley soup and one of lobster bisque, both homemade. There were homemade breads, wheat and zucchini, crusty French and banana nut.
    Hannah, Agnes and Ida had invited every Lassiter in Silver Stream and the surrounding towns, several friends and neighbors and, I suspected, a few single men. My three great-aunts wanted everyone to meet me. I was touched, not only by the gesture, but by the reception from the family. It was as warm and friendly as the big house felt.
    I met cousins, aunts, uncles and longtime family friends. Since I was here for such a short time, I didn’t bother trying to remember names, which I’m terrible at anyway. Most of the talk centered around the murder and I had to recount my discovery-of-the-body story several times.
    Uncle JT waltzed in three hours late, removed his shoes, like everyone else in Hannah’s house, and put on slippers. I was the only person in the house not wearing slippers, a tradition I’d forgotten about.
    As I headed toward JT, his wife Ellie stepped into the entranceway, glared up at him and hissed, “You ass. Better watch your step. I have a key to that rifle cabinet.”
    Startled, I stepped behind a leafy ficus bush, not the greatest hiding place, but still … .
    In the next instant I decided her words were just an exaggeration. Had to be. You know, like when someone says, ‘I could kill you.’ Not a nice thing to say, but not to be taken literally either. My mother used to say