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     call tomorrow, Lizzie.”
    Lizzie nodded then said good-bye as the others decided to leave also, save Molly,
     who took her time.
    “Is everything all right with you, Molly?” Lizzie needed some reassurance about the
     change in Molly.
    “As right as rain. Are you sure you’re all right, honey?” she asked. “I sure wish
     we’d just ambled on into the Christmas season without any dramatics. I’m right tired
     of murder and suspicions.”
    “And it’s just started, Molly. Who knows where this will all lead?”

Chapter Five
    How the past can tyrannize, delimiting our scope of activity—the choices we make,
     the things that happen to us, what we choose to do.
    MCGARR AND THE
P . M .
OF BELGRAVE SQUARE
—BARTHOLOMEW GILL
    W
rong bed.
Lizzie cautiously opened an eye. Wrong curtains. Where am I? She bolted upright in
     the bed, sending the cats leaping onto the floor. Nathaniel’s house. Yesterday’s murder.
     It all came back in overwhelming detail.
    She shivered and crawled back down under the covers. Brie and Edam joined her again
     within seconds.
    Derek Alton had died yesterday, in her house. She hated to think ill of the dead but
     she’d not been impressed with him. He’d come across as egotistical and much more interested
     in the adulation than in the writing process. She’d worried about that, just what
     the book club would make of him, and since it had been her suggestion he be their
     guest, she’d been troubled.
    Not enough to kill him, though. Of course the police couldn’t think she was the killer.
     She’d been in the same room and the shot had been fired from outside. The police.
     She couldn’t even begin to know what went through Mark’s mind yesterday. He looked
     none too pleased about Derek being in her house. Even less, that she’d been hanging
     mistletoe at the time. Was he jealous? Or just being professional, trying not to let
     his personal life interfere with the investigation of a murder?
    No, he was not happy with her; that was certain. And if she were to reverse the roles,
     she knew deep down that she’d be jealous, too. What had she been thinking, going out
     to dinner with Derek? And Mark didn’t even know about that as yet. So, she’d made
     her own bed, so to speak.
    She hoped Mark would get over it and soon.
    Now, the real question was, who would want to kill a visiting author? Surely no one
     in Ashton Corners. She’d been born and raised here. It was a wonderful town, large
     enough to provide all manner of arts, entertainment and outdoor activities but on
     the cozy side so you’d always meet someone you knew when out doing errands. The town
     itself had been part of the reason she’d returned after college and a year of working
     in Huntsville. The other part was the need to be close by to her mama.
    Derek Alton was a visitor. So, someone had been targeting him. Someone had followed
     him to town. That had to be it.
    She made herself get out of the warm, cozy bed, once again disturbing the cats, got
     dressed quickly and went downstairs to find Nathaniel sitting at his kitchen table,
     cup of coffee in hand, reading the
Birmingham News
.
    His thinning white hair was in need of a cut, unusual for Nathaniel, since he normally
     took such pride in his appearance. A true Southern gentleman was how Lizzie had once
     described him to a friend.
    He glanced up at her and smiled. “Good morning, Lizzie. I hope you slept well after
     all that. And that the cats did as well. Please, help yourself to some coffee.”
    Lizzie poured herself a mug and sat down across from Nathaniel. The round birch table
     fit nicely into the large kitchen, about twice the size of her own. No surprise, since
     his beloved wife, now deceased, had been a terrific cook. Two of the walls were decorated
     with traditional country-style wallpaper in cream, yellow and brown, with the bottom
     halves a pale green wainscoting. The remaining walls were covered in appliances and
     dark mahogany