the deacon mystery (part thirteen)
This story started here. When I returned to the table, I was sure that my face told at least part of the story. Elsa nodded as I sat down. “Your boss?” she asked. “Time to go to work?” “No, and … Continue reading
This story started here. When I returned to the table, I was sure that my face told at least part of the story. Elsa nodded as I sat down. “Your boss?” she asked. “Time to go to work?” “No, and … Continue reading
This story started here. “I was surprised that you called me,” she said. I sipped my beer. “Really?” She smiled. “At the last minute like that – that’s what I mean. I barely made it off the island before the … Continue reading
This story started here. On the other side of Pine Street, Main Street stopped being “Main Street” and turned back into a regular Claremont street with modest houses, trees, and a narrow sidewalk which, after the first block or so, … Continue reading
This story started here. “Shall I state the obvious?” Her mouth quirked. There was a brief period of intense internal struggle as we reached the corner of Main Street, and then she said, “You usually do.” The snort of laughter … Continue reading
This story started here. My employer lit a cigarette. There was an ashtray on a small table near her. “Miss Deacon,” she said slowly, “please outline, in general terms, what happened yesterday. I saw your father at the book sale. … Continue reading
This story started here. The Deacon house was smaller and shabbier than I’d expected. It looked like an old summer cottage that had been converted for year-round occupancy. It was on Pine Street, just a few doors down from the … Continue reading