Murder in Death's Door County by Elizabeth Rose Page B

I had a nice little bonus to live on for a bit, while I tried to figure
out what to do. I needed to find out whether this book was still going forward.
    For the umpteenth time that afternoon, I
tried to call Marcos to find out what was happening with the book since Harry’s
murder. And for the umpteenth time, the phone rang and rang. I expected
voicemail to kick in or something, but it didn’t. That struck me as very
peculiar. I held out hope for about 10 rings, then began to question my own
visibility. I began to feel like I had disappeared, instead of Marcos’ apparent
disappearing act. At this point, I didn’t even know if Marcos knew that Harry
was dead.
    As I hung up the phone, I went over my
dinner with Harry yet again. He had been a grade-A jerk, but I realized he must
have been worried about something. Maybe he was anxious that he had been
followed? He had always been pretty nice on the phone. I had a hard time
reconciling his behavior to me in person. I decided to write down the timeline
of events and do some investigating on my own. Could it have been a random
theft and killing? I wondered that, but hit a wall upon the remembering that nothing
seemed to have been taken (except, of course, the bonus check that had my name
on it, and that Donovan had grabbed for me). The whole project had seemed fishy
from the beginning. I mentally kicked myself for ignoring my gut. It seemed
like every time I ignored my instincts, I didn’t just get blindsided, I got hit
by a Mack truck.
    It hadn’t even helped when I had called
Grandpa and Aunt Helen to fill them in on events. I really didn’t want them to
find out via the news, which might make it down to Milwaukee since it entailed
murder. Although I should have realized it ahead of time, my call only
increased their worry for me. It didn’t help that I was still a little
fuzzy-headed from the wine at Janie’s impromptu party.
    “So, what are you going to do job-wise?”
my Grandpa had asked. I imagined him sitting with his buddy, Joe McNulty, at
the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee and an overflowing plate of
cookies. Aunt Helen made the best cookies. No matter what storms happened in my
life, I had always felt safe and warm in her sunny kitchen. My Aunt Helen loved
to decorate with the colors of nature, as demonstrated by the bright yellow and
white kitchen.
    I shrugged, which he couldn’t see over
the phone. Then, taking a sip of my diet soda, I tried to alleviate his concern
(with a bravado I did not feel), “I still might have the book to do. Otherwise,
I dunno.” I tried to avoid telling them that I’m under suspicion for murder.
Since I was innocent until proven guilty, it seemed like borrowing trouble to
mention that.
    “Yeah, well, you need to find out what’s
going on, I think,” Grandpa agreed. “Do they have any idea who did it?”
    I could hear Aunt Helen in the
background, “What happened, Bill? Is Annie okay?”
    “Hold on a sec, Anna Banana,” Grandpa
said, then covered the phone. I could hear muffled sounds as he tried to
explain, in just a few seconds, about me finding Harry.
    Aunt Helen shout of “Annie found a body!”
came through loud and clear. So did the thud when she fainted. I guess it runs
in the family.
    Not shocking, the next sound I heard was
Grandpa’s brief “Good-bye” as he got off the phone to tend to Aunt Helen. Whew!
Now, I only had to hope that I could clear my name before talking to him again.
    That duty done, I grabbed my timeline, stuffed
it in my jeans’ pocket, and left for the restaurant down the road. I wasn’t
really hungry, but I needed to be around people. My knees quaked from nerves at
the thought of this crazy situation I had fallen into, but I was hopeful that
my name would be cleared.
    So, I threw on my leather jacket and
grabbed my purse, and hoped for the best as I left my room. I had seen a funky
little Mexican cantina-style restaurant down the street from the Lighthouse. I
figured I’d