Wine, Dine and Christmas Crimes, Maria Swan [best short novels of all time .TXT] 📗

for me, not so much for Leslie, poor lady, a back injury isn’t something to joke about. I tried to remember what she looked like underneath her hat collection—medium build, soft spoken, that I remembered clearly. And she knew where to get the best bagels in town, I’d been told. As for real estate, I had no clue about the area of town or the type of homes she specialized in. Like Americans say, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Or was that an Italian saying? Enough. I parked my car in the garage and went to drop off Tristan’s gift at my place before going over to Brenda’s. The newspaper I’d lifted from A.J.’s sat next to the book. It went home with me also.

When I knocked on Brenda’s back door, the only answer was Dior’s bark. I let myself in. It was barely after five. Brenda probably got caught in the Friday eve traffic that clogged every road, or maybe she had to stay at Silver Sage after work. It happened often around the holidays when the older residents of the luxury senior living residence had visiting relatives from cold cities back East.

I wondered if my family in Italy received my Christmas cards, and a wave of homesickness flowed over me. I shrugged off the surge of sadness, went to get the dog leash and the poop baggies while Dior was acting as batty as usual. We’d just made it to the end of the driveway when Brenda’s Honda turned the corner. I didn’t stop and waved at her while holding tight onto nutty Dior who tried to jump into the moving SUV.

Our walk was short and fruitful. The Great Dane did his business, I cleaned up, nodded at a few neighbors, and headed back home admiring the colorful and sparkling Christmas displays on the houses. Compared to the rest of the street, Brenda’s was the Cinderella of all especially since the reindeer had rolled off the roof. What was I bitching about? I didn’t have a single decoration, not even a wreath on the door. The only thing even shaped as a tree was the air freshener that hung on my car dashboard after the last complete wash service. That was two months ago, I kept forgetting to get rid of it.

Brenda seemed in a good mood, had she heard us coming? She had poured white wine in two stemmed glasses and was doing something in the kitchen. I hoped it was dinner because the bear claw from A.J’s had been digested long ago.

Dior sniffed and carried on like a big baby around Brenda, who looked at me. “Hungry?”

“Famished. But today was a good day.”

She put a plate with some brie and crackers on the coffee table next to the wine. “Here, munch and talk to me.” I told her about Sunny and the two sisters from the office, and the more I talked about it, the more excited I got. And then I noticed something. The large crystal ashtray Brenda used was missing from the coffee table. Wait, so were her cigarettes and lighter. Weird. Perhaps she really wanted to quit. So how should I react? Ask? Ignore it? I sat back, holding my glass of wine, drooling over the brie, still not sure what to do or say. I felt something hard under my seat, ran my fingers deep into the couch pillow and retrieved a strange object. It looked like a metal marker, well not really, but it was the size of a marker or maybe a mascara?

“Hey, Brenda, any idea what this is?”

She turned away from the stove where she was stirring something. “Oh, there it is. Where did you find it?”

I pointed to the pillow I sat on. “What is it?”

“An e-cigarette. I’m trying to quit smoking.”

I took a second look, had no clue how the thing functioned. “Is it working?”

“Don’t know. Today’s my first day, and I already misplaced it twice. We’ll eat in ten minutes, and then I’m meeting Bob at Walmart. We are buying a new inflatable Christmas something.”

“Good to know. I’ll eat and go home to see what kind of information Leeann sent me regarding the listings. Was that a freak accident or what? A man falling from a gondola. Well, it sounds even freakier to me because I keep associating the word gondola with the boats in Venice.”

“You miss your family, don’t you?”

I nodded. Wanted to tell her about the book I bought, but I knew if I tried to talk I’d cry, so I spread more Brie on my cracker and stuffed it in my mouth.

FIVE

TRISTAN’S GIFT SAT next to the newspaper, attracting my attention like a cat’s to a fresh roll of toilet paper. It was the same with the woman who drowned, a perfect stranger to me. A photo on a printed page. Why all this emotional uproar?

As for the perfectly wrapped tome...I suspected that along with the book the wise millennial had wrapped a piece of my heart. Stop it, Monica.

First things first, I had to check my email. Leeann could be freaking out, waiting for my reply to a Realtor’s common questions. Was the information regarding the listings clear? Did I have a functioning ekey? I resisted the urge to pour myself a glass of wine opting for some sparkling water instead and opened my laptop. Wow. Those two sisters’ files were better organized than Brenda’s to-die-for pantry.

The property set to close in ten days came up first. Nothing for me to do, of course real estate was not a precise science. I sent good thoughts that both sisters would be back for the closing.

The listings were organized in the order they were taken.

One. A completely redone small house in South Scottsdale—cute as a button, with a pool, but only a one-car garage that had probably been a carport they’d enclosed since the house was built in the late seventies. Occupied. I made a mental note to make a courtesy