Death on the Coast, M Comley [book club books TXT] 📗

but things had changed. The driveway was empty, there were sheets tacked over the windows, and the garbage cans lay overturned in the street. That told her that no one had been home since garbage day, three days earlier.

She sat parked outside the mailbox, her hands itching to pull open the door and see what was in there. But if someone caught her in the act, she could end up behind bars, Brendon or no Brendon. To make matters worse, there was an orange No Trespassing sign prominently tacked to the front corner of the house. That’s pretty hard to miss!

Disappointed, she started the engine and drove back to her own neighborhood. Something inside told her that Christine knew far more than she was letting on. Is it possible she knows who the killer is?

Her mind was too busy, and she changed direction again and headed for the café situated on the edge of town, next to the expressway. As far as she knew, none of her friends ever went there, so it might be a good place for some privacy and computer time.

She spotted a stool at the end of the counter, hoping there would be an outlet just over the counter’s edge. She was in luck. “I’ll take a mocha coffee and a slice of that delicious cheesecake,” she told the waitress who returned a blank look. “I’d like mocha coffee…” she began again.

“We have black coffee, and you can add cream or sugar. I don’t even know what the hell moo-kah is, but I’m pretty sure we don’t have any,” the lady with a lined face and dyed black hair informed her.

Lucy felt like she was being sized up by a member of a motorcycle gang.

“That will be fine,” she said hurriedly.

The waitress returned a couple of minutes later, sloshing the coffee onto the counter and pushing the plate with the slice of cheesecake on a coffee saucer toward Lucy, accompanied by a fork.

“Cheesecake has been there for days. If you see any green on it, just pick that part off and eat around it,” she advised and moved on to a pair of gentlemen in their early fifties who were telling trucker tales at the opposite end of the counter.

Lucy subdued a shudder and admired her savvy prudence in the past to steer clear of the café. This establishment wasn’t a patch on Sal’s and the staff, well, enough said about that aspect. She wasn’t surprised in the least that this place wasn’t the talk of the town.

“I’d pass on the cheesecake if I were you.”

Lucy glanced up from her laptop. A man stood in a suit with a two-day’s growth of beard, and a tie that looked like it had sat in the bottom of a mildewed clothes hamper before he dragged it out.

“Oh, is that so?” She tried to be pleasant, but wished he would leave her in peace.

“Don’t I know you?” he ventured, his hand massaging his scruffy chin.

She prayed he was wrong.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You’re that woman involved in the murder—the one who works at the paper.”

Oh, Len is going to love this. “Uh, you have me at a disadvantage and you are?” she tried.

“You don’t know me. Let’s just say we hang out in different circles.”

“Okay. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”

“Sure, go ahead. I’ll just sit here and stare.”

That time Lucy really did shudder. “I’m sorry, is there something I can do for you?”

“Just curious. Actually, there’s something I could probably do for you, but I happen to be on a break right now.”

Is he asking for money? What little Lucy had was going toward food and not entertainment from a frumpy bum who appeared to be living off coffee and cigarettes.

“How do you mean?”

“Your friend, the one who got murdered.”

“Angie?”

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“What about her?”

“You might say she was a client of mine.”

“What kind of client?” Lucy’s curiosity piqued, but she loathed to trust anyone. She’d been burned too many times.

“Call me an investment advisor.”

Lucy gawped at him. Is he speaking in euphemisms? “What sort of investments?”

“The normal kind. Money. Lots of it.”

Lucy turned on her stool, searching his eyes to see if there was any truth in them. “Are you saying that Angie had enough money that she was dealing with investments?”

He guffawed and smashed an unlit cigarette onto the bar in a gesture of contempt. “Loaded. Of course, I’m not supposed to talk about these things, but hell, she’s dead now, right?”

Lucy tried to play along, to see what details she could get out of this stranger. “Oh, yeah, she told me she inherited some jewelry. I didn’t think it was worth much, but apparently I was wrong. A bracelet, I think it was.”

“That’s nothing. She never let on. Didn’t want all the gossips in town to know. Even I didn’t know the total until a couple of weeks ago when the daughter had me cash it all out.” He whistled. “I told her she has to pay inheritance taxes, but she just took the bags and left.”

“Bags?”

“Yeah, you know, suitcases. Lucky for her, Angie put the accounts in both their names so the daughter doesn’t have to wait for probate. Yeah, she’ll be sitting pretty for the rest of her life if she takes care of it. You can never tell with a girl like that. Smart mouth, but it doesn’t always make it to the brain.”

“You know, I’ve tried to counsel Christine myself, but now she’s gone. Wish I knew where she went.”

“Oh, that’s simple. She went with that sailor guy down to Londonberry. She’s staying in some house they bought there. In fact, it was right after her mother died, just about two days later.”

“Yes, I think she was just overcome with the sadness and couldn’t bear to be around the same places where she’d shared memories with her mother.”

“If you say so.” He grunted. “Well, I’m out of here. See you around.”

Lucy sat there, aghast, after the man