Read Online Becklaw's Murder Mystery Tour (Jo Anderson Series) by Dane McCaslin - Free Book Online
Authors: Dane McCaslin
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shiny metal of a brace.
Miss Bea sat up straighter, fire in her eyes. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, Lucy!’ Leslie and I looked at her in wonder. We’d never heard such a tone coming from our sweet little Miss Bea.
‘Oh, yes, I will, Beatrice, and you will kindly call me by my given name. You know that I detest shortcuts of any kind.’ Lucinda gave Miss Bea a hard stare from narrowed eyes, and I shuddered. Old women were worse than children, I was beginning to think.
Leslie had risen to her feet, glancing from one old warrior to the other. ‘I could make us some tea, if you’d like, Miss Bea,’ she offered. I could tell that she wanted to get away from the shots being launched over the bows of battleships familiar with years of verbal volleying.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ I stated, not waiting for Miss Bea’s reply. ‘Leslie, to the kettle.’ I guided her out of the front room and through the narrow door into the galleystyle kitchen.
Leslie drooped against the counter, arms crossed and a wary look in her eyes. ‘Do you think that it was wise bringing that woman here?’
I laughed, a short bark of grim amusement. ‘I had no choice in the matter. She just gave me an order and I obeyed. I was afraid not to,’ I added, with what I hoped was a pitiful look on my face.
Leslie turned to the cupboard and began pulling out teacups and saucers. ‘I suppose they’ll be OK in there alone,’ she began, hunting now for the tea bags. ‘At least I hope so. Do you think that she was close to her brother, what’s his name, Dermot?’
‘It’s Desmond, and I have a feeling that the two of them battled it out for supremacy in Desmond’s affections.’ I handed Leslie a handful of tea bags; then turned the burner under the stainless steel kettle to ‘High’.
‘That must be typical behavior for the two of them,’ I said, using my chin to indicate the front room where the two old women now sat in complete silence.
With the tea brewed and a plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies loaded onto a tray, Leslie and I moved back into the living room. Miss Bea sat with her hands clasped, lips thin and eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the ceiling. Miss Lucinda (that’s how I had begun thinking of her) still sat in her armchair, glowering at Miss Bea.
‘Here’s some tea and cookies,’ I announced brightly. ‘Miss Bea, Miss Lucinda, would you like one or two?’
‘I’ll take three,’ said Miss Lucinda. ‘Give Beatrice one. She’s usually watching that figure of hers.’ She smirked across at her sister-in-law. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll take hers, too.’
Miss Bea sat silently, hurt feelings almost palpable. I felt very protective of her just then, and sat down next to her on the sofa. Leslie took the other side, the two of us a buffer from the hurricane that was Lucinda Becklaw.
I tried again. ‘So, how are you enjoying your time in Manchester?’ I asked Miss Lucinda, who was slurping her tea in a most unladylike manner. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miss Bea’s thinly veiled look of disgust.
Miss Lucinda dunked a cookie into her tea and took a bite of the dripping sweet. ‘I was doing just fine until this,’ she nodded toward Miss Bea, bits of cookie dribbling from the corners of her mouth.
Miss Bea gave a small snort. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t ask you here, Lucy, as you might recall.’ I laughed inwardly; Miss Bea got in an underhanded shot with that ‘Lucy’ comment.
‘Hummph. I can recall many a time when you needed me around, Beatrice. I have a feeling this is one of them.’ Another noisy gulp followed this pronouncement. ‘So, what exactly is going on?’
‘We can’t find Miss Bea’s handbag, for starters,’ I said, reaching out to gently pat the plump hand that lay next to mine.
‘OK. That’s soon enough sorted. We just need to wait for the McLaughlins to return, as I remember. What’s next?’ Miss Lucinda’s stern glance moved among the three of us, who sat
Miss Bea sat up straighter, fire in her eyes. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, Lucy!’ Leslie and I looked at her in wonder. We’d never heard such a tone coming from our sweet little Miss Bea.
‘Oh, yes, I will, Beatrice, and you will kindly call me by my given name. You know that I detest shortcuts of any kind.’ Lucinda gave Miss Bea a hard stare from narrowed eyes, and I shuddered. Old women were worse than children, I was beginning to think.
Leslie had risen to her feet, glancing from one old warrior to the other. ‘I could make us some tea, if you’d like, Miss Bea,’ she offered. I could tell that she wanted to get away from the shots being launched over the bows of battleships familiar with years of verbal volleying.
‘I’ll give you a hand,’ I stated, not waiting for Miss Bea’s reply. ‘Leslie, to the kettle.’ I guided her out of the front room and through the narrow door into the galleystyle kitchen.
Leslie drooped against the counter, arms crossed and a wary look in her eyes. ‘Do you think that it was wise bringing that woman here?’
I laughed, a short bark of grim amusement. ‘I had no choice in the matter. She just gave me an order and I obeyed. I was afraid not to,’ I added, with what I hoped was a pitiful look on my face.
Leslie turned to the cupboard and began pulling out teacups and saucers. ‘I suppose they’ll be OK in there alone,’ she began, hunting now for the tea bags. ‘At least I hope so. Do you think that she was close to her brother, what’s his name, Dermot?’
‘It’s Desmond, and I have a feeling that the two of them battled it out for supremacy in Desmond’s affections.’ I handed Leslie a handful of tea bags; then turned the burner under the stainless steel kettle to ‘High’.
‘That must be typical behavior for the two of them,’ I said, using my chin to indicate the front room where the two old women now sat in complete silence.
With the tea brewed and a plate of store-bought chocolate chip cookies loaded onto a tray, Leslie and I moved back into the living room. Miss Bea sat with her hands clasped, lips thin and eyes fixed on a point somewhere near the ceiling. Miss Lucinda (that’s how I had begun thinking of her) still sat in her armchair, glowering at Miss Bea.
‘Here’s some tea and cookies,’ I announced brightly. ‘Miss Bea, Miss Lucinda, would you like one or two?’
‘I’ll take three,’ said Miss Lucinda. ‘Give Beatrice one. She’s usually watching that figure of hers.’ She smirked across at her sister-in-law. ‘On second thoughts, I’ll take hers, too.’
Miss Bea sat silently, hurt feelings almost palpable. I felt very protective of her just then, and sat down next to her on the sofa. Leslie took the other side, the two of us a buffer from the hurricane that was Lucinda Becklaw.
I tried again. ‘So, how are you enjoying your time in Manchester?’ I asked Miss Lucinda, who was slurping her tea in a most unladylike manner. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Miss Bea’s thinly veiled look of disgust.
Miss Lucinda dunked a cookie into her tea and took a bite of the dripping sweet. ‘I was doing just fine until this,’ she nodded toward Miss Bea, bits of cookie dribbling from the corners of her mouth.
Miss Bea gave a small snort. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t ask you here, Lucy, as you might recall.’ I laughed inwardly; Miss Bea got in an underhanded shot with that ‘Lucy’ comment.
‘Hummph. I can recall many a time when you needed me around, Beatrice. I have a feeling this is one of them.’ Another noisy gulp followed this pronouncement. ‘So, what exactly is going on?’
‘We can’t find Miss Bea’s handbag, for starters,’ I said, reaching out to gently pat the plump hand that lay next to mine.
‘OK. That’s soon enough sorted. We just need to wait for the McLaughlins to return, as I remember. What’s next?’ Miss Lucinda’s stern glance moved among the three of us, who sat